


1782

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mondays, Picnics, Very much sadness, alex is very sad, bee movie - Freeform, eliza is everyones best friend, even more drama oh no, historical dates, john adams: human disaster, kind of?, sassy Jeffersons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 19:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 21,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7235806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1782, John Laurens was killed on the battefield.</p><p>In 1782, Martha Jefferson died of disease.</p><p>Accompanied by other historical references, this tells the story of what Alex and Jefferson did after their respective others died. Have fun</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. john (crie)

Alexander Hamilton was a very happy man when he got off of work.

First of all, it meant getting away from _Burr_ and _Jefferson_ and _all those people_ and he got to spend time with people he wanted to.

Second of all, it meant getting home. Taking the subway meant he got to see just about everyone and everything peculiar that particular day, and it always provided a funny story to tell John when he finally got home.

Third of all, it meant John.

John Laurens was a soldier in Afghanistan, as well as Alex’s husband, as well as a totally, definitively dorky and lovely human being. Being home reminded Alex of him.

Alexander Hamilton was going to be an even happier man this day, August 26th, because he had set up a Skype schedule with John and it was going to be tonight.

He was practically giddy as he hopped on the train, smiling widely at everyone who passed, even the person who (probably intentionally) bumped into his shoulder on the sidewalk. He almost spilled his afternoon coffee while running off at the stop.

Swinging open the painted green door, Alex shouted a cheerful “Good afternoon, Philip!” to John’s pet turtle, set his briefcase down, and hung up his jacket on the coat rack John had set up a year ago.

He noticed how hot the house was and turned on a few of the fans he had set up around the rooms.

_Well, it is August,_ Alex thought to himself.

He shuffled past the bright, inviting walls of the kitchen and the more refined, mutes tones of the dining room and set his phone down on the counter to charge it. During work, Alex had made the mistake of engaging in a Twitter war with Jefferson and might have accidentally been mentioned in a front-page article, all because of his phone.

After changing into more comfortable clothes and finishing yet another essay he had been working on for at least a week, Alex looked up at the clock and noticed that it was ten minutes before the Skype call would start.

Smiling, he opened the app and waited. Eight minutes.

He went into the kitchen to check what he had for dinner. Not much—he’d probably just go for a pizza. Hey, at least it was food.

Seven minutes.

He remembered a nice restaurant John and him had gone to, when they were first getting to know each other—like, _really_ getting to know each other. Alex recalled that there was a stuffy waiter with a fake-sounding British accent and an annoying family sitting across from them that night, but the food was amazing. He paid for the tip that night.

Five minutes.

Alex went to get his phone and quickly texted Eliza about the call, his thumbs aching for movement. She responded quickly:

_-You get excited about the littlest things. Remind me again why I dated you?_

Grinning, he decided to turn his phone off for a while and went back to the couch where his laptop was.

Three minutes. He couldn’t stop glancing at the clock on his computer and smiling. Alex reminded himself of a middle schooler—nervous, giddy, and fairly immature. If that didn’t describe him right now, nothing did.

Two minutes. God, Mondays always seemed so long anyway.

One minute. Alex didn’t expect John to answer exactly at 6:00, but he still gazed expectantly at the little numbers.

It was 6:00. Nothing.

Alex shuffled around the drawers near the sofa a bit and (finally) found a hair tie. Well, it was a scrunchie, but it would do. He wanted to look his best for John.

He laughed a bit when he imagined what John would say if he was here, in their house, right now.

“I never thought this moment would come. Alexander Hamilton, my very own boyfriend, wearing a scrunchie. God has truly abandoned us.”

Five minutes after. Still nothing.

He cleared the coffee table and brought out some chips—he might watch something afterwards. Alex reminded himself that he needed to remind himself to get a sticky note to remind himself that he needs to find a good new Netflix show to watch.

Ten minutes in, and Alex was getting worried.

He huffed a curled up next to a pillow. It wasn’t as hot as it was during the day.

After half an hour had passed, he sighed and shut his laptop. Maybe John forgot. Or maybe something… came up.

Alex froze. He didn’t want to think about that.

Everything would be fine.

~

Everything was most definitely _not_ fine.

Alex had fallen asleep on the couch while waiting. A small pool of drool had formed on his shirt, and a still-half-full bowl of chips sat on the coffee table.

After realizing where he was, he got up and brushed himself off, changing his clothes again. It was in the bedroom where he heard a significant buzzing sound.

_Bzz. Bzz._

_Bzz. Bzz._

Peering around the wall, he finally found the source of the mysterious buzzing sound: his phone, which he had left on the kitchen counter.

_Bzz. Bzz._

He checked it, and noticed two things.

One: _Damn, it’s 8:57. I must’ve slept in. Going to have to call Washington._

Two: _Oh my god._

His iPhone had been blowing up since… earlier this morning?

The first text he saw was from Eliza:

_-Oh my god, Alex. Are you okay? Please answer me._

Angelica had sent a few, too. With punctuation, too. Something must be going on.

_-Alexander. Where are you? Are you okay? Did you hear?_

Of course he was okay. Hear what?

Scrolling down, he noticed that there was a text from Jefferson.

_-If you have any goddamn sense in you, hamilton, check the news_

He opened his phone, getting increasingly worried about what happened. If Jefferson of all people was texting him (with no explanation of how he got his number), there must be some kind of trouble.

Alex checked the news app Eliza had installed for him after she had gotten exasperated with him just typing in “news” to Google.

The words that appeared first were clear and set in thick, black letters, taking up the entire page, taking up his entire head. There was nothing that could shake them, no matter how many times he slammed down his phone, no matter how many times he tried with fumbling fingers to call Eliza or Washington or even Jefferson, no matter how many times he pinched himself, trying to wake up.

Those words would never go away.

_**John Laurens Declared Dead ******_

~

Alex doesn’t go to work that day, or the next. By the time he had caught up with everything, Washington had called him to tell him it was fine if he didn’t show up that day. What was unspoken between the two was “Hell, take the whole week off.” Alex knew that John and Washington had been friends, too…

He decided to spend the time he had sleeping. It would help him keep his mind on what just happened.

When he woke up about an hour later, he called Eliza and everything seemed to pour out.

“Eliza, I mean, h—how could this happen? Joh—Eliza, he never did anything wrong, Eliza, how—how—how—“

“Hey, Alex, slow down.” She didn’t make the usual crack about how hard it was for him to slow down this time. “We’re all having trouble processing this information. How are you? Are you okay? Have you eaten?”

Alex looked around the kitchen for a bit, running his hands over the cabinet knobs, all the while keeping his mouth talking to Eliza. He felt that if he stopped talking, his mouth would have nothing to do but blubber, and then he really would be a mess.

He picked up the small container of Ben & Jerry’s and got out a spoon. Perfect.

“Alex, have you talked to anyone else besides me? They might be wondering how you’re doing, too. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said almost unconsciously, not putting any thought into what words he was saying. “I’ll-I’ll call your sisters.”

“Okay. Bye, Alex. I hope things get better.” She hung up.

After calling Angelica and getting information on the best coping mechanisms, and calling Peggy and getting information on the best places to get cakes in New York City, he put the phone down for a while and tried going to sleep again.

This clearly wasn’t working, but it was all he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that happened


	2. alex gets (a lil bit) better (and a bit more bitter)

Alex didn’t return to work until a week later. No one mentioned it or confronted him about it; most of them were still pretty messed up themselves.

That’s what it was in his head now. “It.”

When he reached his desk in the morning, it was all he could do to not break down right there and then as he saw the little framed picture of John, his John, tilted slightly to the left, as always. The smile that John always wore, staring back at him, was just another punch in the gut.

So he decided to take it like he took a punch in the gut; he sucked it up and stayed right where he was, no matter how much it hurt.

Every assignment handed to him now was accompanied by a pat on the hand.

Every meeting he attended made sure not to have him talk too much.

Every order was given with a sympathetic look afterwards.

Everything had changed, as Alex expected.

Only a couple people still treated him the same as before: Angelica, professional as always and hoping to get him “back on track” (as Eliza politely put it), or interns and newbies, as they either hadn’t checked the news or realized that Alex was connect to John Laurens.

Of course, there was always Jefferson.

His efforts to argue with Alex every time they took a step into a new project were slightly diminished, as if that made a difference to him. The intent was still there; pushing Alex to raise his voice, get him riled up, get him angry.

Alex supposed he wanted things to be like before, too. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

However, before he left that day, Washington pulled him into his office and sat him down on one of the two wooden chairs that faced his desk.

“Listen, son, I want you to know that our entire office offers our condolences in this time of sorrow.” Alex was too overwhelmed to object to him calling him “son.”

“I’m assuming you already knew that. But I wanted to tell you, in person, that I care about you. I also care about your wellbeing.”

Alex suspected he knew where this was going.

“Hey, I’m sleeping. I’m fine. I—I think I had lunch a few times. I mean, I was just planning to go to the supermarket down town today—“

“Son, I’ve taken care of that. I’ve sent a couple of groceries to your house already. I trusted you enough to take care of yourself, but—consider this a present. It’s the least I could do, with… all of this happening at once.”

Alex gaped for a second, and then quickly corrected his posture.

“I… thank you, sir. It’s… thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Washington smiled and nodded. “See you, son.”

Alex proceeded to get up, shake hands with Washington as goodbye, swing open the doors to leave, and get hit in the face with a blur of bright purple.

It was Jefferson, looking very flushed and nervous. Alex, even with his drooping eyes and dulled senses, noticed something was off with him.

 _Only Jefferson would wear that shade, and in a suit, too,_ Alex thought.

“Sir, I need to speak with you, preferably soon,” Jefferson said, as if he was in a rush. He certainly looked the part—uncharacteristically wringing his hands, running them through his hair, too. His agitated and anxious state surprised Alex, who only ever saw him as calm and refined.

“Yes, fine, Jefferson, I was just saying goodbye to Alexander. Yes, you can come in.”

Jefferson glanced down swiftly at Alex as if he hadn’t noticed him before.

“Oh. Yeah. Goodbye, Hamilton.”

Alex was too drained to spare a glare at Jefferson as he walked out. Besides, there wasn’t the usual malice and twist in Jefferson’s words. That only added to the strange way he was acting.

While making his way out of the building, Alex decided to risk asking Burr if he had noticed anything off about Jefferson that day.

“Well, he got a call later in the morning and left after that, but I didn’t see or hear anything,” he responded, as confused as Alex was. “Why?”

“Never mind!” was the only answer he got.

Later that night, Alexander went to bed earlier than normal, dozing off to the view of bright streetlights and the cold whisper of a window fan. 

The next couple of days passed quickly. They were all similar: Tuesday blended into Wednesday, which blended into Thursday, which eventually blended into Friday. Nothing too spectacular happened, and the only things he had planned on his calendar were trivial—Lafayette’s birthday would take place on the 6th, and other small things like that.

Every day, Alex got up on time, managed to eat a little bit more, and worked himself to sleep. He was falling into a steady pace, the same routine and rhythm over and over—until Friday.

Everything took off after Friday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry its so short!!!!!!!!! im just starting out so feedback is appreciated :)


	3. jefferson????? (ft. angry™ alex)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alex gets a little freaked out in this chapter ok he's v sad

For Alex, Friday morning was fine. Totally fine. He succeeded in plugging in an old toaster and getting out some weird, unused syrup for the Eggo waffles Washington had sent, along with a few other things.

Even though he would never admit it, Alex was very grateful for the groceries.

He picked out his favorite suit for Friday, a dark blue one with a tie that felt extra soft. Hercules had bought it for him on his last birthday, his 27th, after he "was in desperate need of some style." He found himself near to smiling when he read the newspaper and munched on breakfast at the table—there was nothing funny in the news, but he was _so damn proud_ of himself for being able to actually function. He felt like John would be proud.

The dates for the wake and funeral were currently undecided, but Alex knew it would be okay. A select group of people would be attending; thankfully, Henry Laurens was not one of them.

His smile sunk into a frown when he though Henry Lauren’s name. As far as Alex recalled, the last time John’s infandous troglodyte of a father (Alex himself had thought that one up) had spoken to his son was over a phone call. Unkind words had been exchanged. And now John’s dead.

Alex really didn’t feel like finishing breakfast now.

~

Thomas Jefferson, meanwhile, was having a terrible morning.

“Martha, please, you got to—we got to—come on…”

He couldn’t stand how pale she looked, or how much his voice cracked when he told her how beautiful she was, or how much his chin quivered when he held her frail and shaking hand, or how much he wanted her to open her eyes _and she just wouldn’t—_

~

Alex had trouble thinking at work. His mind wouldn’t stop wandering back to John, and it was hard to push back the thoughts, especially when he felt like he needed to be thinking more, and a single thought kept cropping up…

_John is dead._

_John is dead._

_My John is dead._

But he pushed them back anyway, and continued on working.

~

“Mr. Jefferson, you’ll have to move to the other room—“

“No! No, no! Where—where are you taking me?”

“Mr. Jefferson—“

“Martha!”

~

Alex could barely see whatever he was writing on the forms Burr had given him. He was on the verge of… something, he couldn’t tell what.

Hearing and seeing were merely secondary senses now: All he needed was the cold touch of the white sheet, the thin grip of his pencil, and the bitter taste in his mouth.

He wasn’t on the verge of something; he was on the verge of everything at once. But whatever it was, it was not okay.

~

“Mrs. Carr, we’re so glad you could come here as soon as possible.”

“Just give me Tommy. I’ll take care of him.”

“Ma—Martha?”

“Hey, Tommy. Yeah, it’s your sister. We’re going back home, alright?”

“Hey?”

“Yeah, Tommy?”

“Where’s Martha?”

~

Alex was trying to blink back the tears now. He tried not to notice them—they were so small, so insignificant, they didn’t matter now, _all that matters is John—_

Alex was still furiously writing about God knows what when it happened.

His pencil snapped.

It all happened at once. One minute he was fine, or rather felt fine, and the next he was crying—sobbing, really—and nothing was okay. He felt broken, and so he acted broken. The pencil breaking wasn’t even that big of a deal. He just needed a reason to break down.

This was the last thing Aaron Burr expected from his coworker. Nonetheless, Burr called for Washington. More expectedly, their boss got there as quick as possible.

“What happened?” he mouthed to Burr, trying to calm Alexander down. A pat on the shoulder was not going to help him this time.

“No idea,” Burr mouthed back, checking to see if anyone else was seeing Alex’s meltdown. No one else was in the room. _Thank God,_ Burr thought. Even he couldn’t stand to see Hamilton in such a state.

Washington whispered a couple of “shh”s in the most soothing voice he could do and placed a hand on Alex’s back.

“Alexander? Son, are you alright?”

Alex, tears still wetting his cheeks, looked up, and hugged Washington. He tried to cry a little less—this was his boss, after all.

“You’re alright, son. You’re alright.”

Burr really didn’t want a part in this. He took off to go print something. Any attempt to look busy was fine with him, really.

After a while of possibly ruining his boss’s suit, Alex looked up again.

“I’m sorry, sir, it’s all my fault—“

“You have nothing to apologize for, son. It’s been a hard time for you. I was expecting some sort of emotional response from you soon, anyway—“

“What are you, my therapist? ‘Emotional response?’ Really? Come on, now, I’m fine, I can work.”

Washington shook his head. “Go home, Alexander.”

Alex refused. “I can get plenty of work done right now.”

“You can get work done _at home_.”

“Listen, I’m telling you, I’m fine!” Alex rose from his seat, getting genuinely angry now. Washington would have laughed at how absurd Alexander was being if it weren’t for Alex’s obviously baggy but frantic eyes. He wasn’t crying anymore.

“No. Now get home.”

“Wash—“

“Alexander.” The tone in his voice was unmistakable.

“Christ, I can get plenty of work done! Of course I can, I you would just let me. Now, I bet I could even do double the amount, especially since _some people,_ ” he glared angrily at Jefferson’s empty desk, “didn’t bother to show up today. Come on—“

“Alexan—“

Alex began shuffling through his bag and eventually pulled out his phone.

“You know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna call Jefferson so he can _finally_ do some _goddamn work_ around here,” Alex made sweeping gesture to the entire room, “and you’ll all thank me later. Now, how about that?”

“Son, that’s not a good idea—“ Washington made to grab Alex’s phone, but Alex ran to the other side of the room and dialed the number.

“Hello, is this Thomas Jefferson? Yeah, actually, I would like to talk with that son of—“

_“Hamilton.”_ Washington’s grating voice cut right through Alex’s words, stopping him short before he could say anything else. He stopped speaking into the phone and met Washington’s gaze with fury blazing in his eyes.

He opened his mouth again, ready to unleash a string of insults, but was stopped by what he heard come out of the phone.

“Mr. Jefferson is in not state to talk to anyone right now, sorry not sorry. Is there a message you’d like to pass on, sir?” The sarcastic voice at the other end of the call was clearly annoyed and hung up moments later.

For once, Washington was grateful for the Jeffersonian ability to add such malice and sass into a mere couple of sentences. He was able to grab the phone from Alex’s hand before seating Alex down and keeping him there.

“Go home, Alexander. That’s an order from your commander.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry


	4. jeffersad :(

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :,(

So Alex did stay home. He followed his boss’s advice and took off a week, even—talking to friends, talking to the cashier at a Walmart, talking to Washington, and (thankfully) not talking to himself.

He still cried, of course. Every time he stepped into the living room his eyes found it harder to stay dry—seeing John in pictures, reliving the countless nights he had spent passed out next to John while watching old Disney movies, thinking of the kisses they shared on the couch.

_“It’s been a hard time for you.”_

Alex shuddered whenever he remembered his outburst at work. Peggy had found out about it and had dubbed the event “Alex’s Little Tantrum,” or something absurd like that. He only recalled that Eliza had subsequently told them to “shut the actual bleep up”. Oh, Eliza.

He was left in the dark once the second he left Washington’s office—he had no idea who had answered his call, because that voice definitely did not belong to Jefferson. He didn’t actually know why Jefferson hadn’t been in for work that morning. To his horror, Alex found himself wondering about Jefferson’s whereabouts.

He decided to go back to making phone calls to people at work to see what was going on at the office without him there to, as he put it, “Keep everyone in line.” Washington actually laughed out loud at that.

Burr was next in line to call—he had actually been on Alexander’s list of people to call at work three times before, but Alex had to admit that he was a good source of gossip.

“Burr? Are you still working on that case? Good. So, I’m thinking about a new idea to present to GWash—“

“Alexander.” Burr’s voice was harder to hear than in the previous calls. He sounded like he was trying to keep it down—why? Was someone there?

“What? What’s happening? Anything good?”

“Alexander, Washington just pulled someone into his office, and I’m trying to see who it is without looking suspicious—shh, be _quiet,_ I don’t know who it is yet. No, he’s not yelling. When has he ever yelled?”

Alex was about to launch into an extremely detailed story of when Washington Really Did Yell At Him, but was cut off by Burr’s next findings.

“He’s—Washington is talking to Jefferson. Aka, the Thomas Jefferson who hasn’t come to work at all since that Friday.”

“Really? Can you hear them?” This was the most dramatic thing that had happened all while Alex was taking off time, besides the grilled cheese incident. Alex shuddered again.

“Alexander?”

Alex gulped. It was Washington’s, rather than Burr’s, voice that was now speaking.

“Y—Yes, sir?”

“This matter is no concern of you. What happens between Jefferson and myself is strictly our business,” Washington declared.

Alex heard a stuttering voice from the other end of the call.

“Yes, Jefferson, I’ll be right back,” Washington called back, his voice more distant. “Alexander, feel free to come back when you’re ready. But whenever you do, don’t talk to Jefferson. Is that clear?”

Alex had never heard Washington speak to him like that—except, maybe, the time Washington Really Did Yell At Him. Unfortunately for Washington, this just made Alex more interested in what was happening.

“But—Jefferson hasn’t been to work since a week ago, I think that we deserve some sort of an explanation, sir—“

“Hold on, Alexander.” Washington must’ve then put a hand over the phone, because Alex heard a muffled conversation from the other end but couldn’t make out what was being said. “I’ll let Thomas tell you himself.”

_When did Jefferson become “Thomas?”_ Alex wondered.

“Hamilton?”

That most certainly did _not_ sound like Jefferson. Sure, the proud Virginian drawl was still there, but the voice was scratchy and raw, and he sounded much more… what was the word? Defeated? Upset? Depressed? All of those seemed to fit.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

“Hilarious. So, Hamilton, what do you want to know?” The thread of sarcasm was stale, replaced instead by strain and flatness.

“I want to know why you’ve been absent from work for more than a week without any explanation.”

A long, melodramatic sigh came form the other end. Alex could practically see Jefferson rubbing his temples.

“If it shuts you up, sure. You know my wife, Martha?”

“I think we’ve met. She’s sure as hell a lot better than you. What did you do this time, try to flirt with her? I’ve heard that hasn’t worked out well for you in the past.”

“Martha passed away on the 6th.”

Silence.

“Oh.”

That was all Alex could say. A single word, not even somewhere along the lines of “I’m sorry.” He bit his tongue, thinking over a nice way to send condolences to his rival without sounding either bitter or fake. An even more unnerving statement by Jefferson broke the unnerving silence.

“That’s all you have to say to me, huh? Well, it’s not like I expected you to feel human emotions anyway, Hamilton.”

“I’m sorry, Thomas. I really am.” He had to say something, and at least it wasn’t laced with spiteful expletives.

“Yeah, yeah, right. Was it as hard as you thought, Hamilton? Saying sorry? I would’ve thought that Laurens guy of yours taught you something about compassion. Guess not.” Wait, didn't he know? Jefferson wasn’t even mad anymore; he was just resentful and trying to get Alex to argue. He refused to give in.

“John died on the 27th last month.”

It was Jefferson’s time to be speechless.

"W--wait, I forgot--"

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.” Alex’s expectations of his enemy were now nonexistent—as if he had many to begin with.

After waiting another few precious seconds, Alex angrily hung up, leaving Burr, Washington, and Jefferson at a loss for words.

He didn’t call anyone else for the rest of the day.


	5. gwash gets a suggestion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> something funny I had an idea for, but don't worry the angst will be back soon enough

Alex came back to work the next Monday; Jefferson was late, but showed up before Washington called for a meeting on planning for next month.

He did his best not to bring up Jefferson’s outrageous wardrobe choices (today was a sky blue paisley suit with a white tie), which seemed almost _intentionally_ testing his patience. Instead, he focused on the generic gray triangle pattern of the meeting room’s carpet. At least a carpet wouldn’t fight him for looking at it the wrong way.

Washington seemed somewhat pleased that Alex and Jefferson weren’t exchanging blows for once, but everyone in the room had to admit something about the situation was off-kilter.

The two decided to sit on opposite ends of the table, which created a slight predicament for everyone else—either sit on one side, and make it seem like they sympathized with Jefferson’s pain; or sit on the other, and make it seem like the sympathized with Alexander’s pain. To say the very least, Washington was confused.

The increasing tension was unbearable, with Alexander and Jefferson refusing to say anything for fear the other might attack with a barrage of insults. None other than Aaron Burr, however, soon broke the taut atmosphere by stepping inside the room with a wide smile.

“Guess what day it was yesterday? National Wife Day! I took Theo to a park nearby and since she was craving pretzels I got us some and we talked about names for the baby and—“ Burr eventually looked up to see two men glaring murderously at him, and the rest staring in astonishment. Humiliated, his face fell and he took a seat.

Alex’s gaze flickered over to Jefferson for a moment as he rearranged his papers for Washington, and for a split second caught a look in his eye that expressed the same pain he was feeling right now.

_Well, now we have something in common,_ Alex thought while gritting his teeth. He sighed, waiting for the meeting to finally start. Once it started, the sooner it’d be over, and the sooner he could get back home.

Washington left to get some notes he had forgotten. Alex sunk deeper in his chair; this truly was going to take forever. He took the time to look over everyone else. Maybe their personal problems would overshadow his and he could ignore them for once.

Angelica Schuyler, prim and punctual as ever, had arrived first at the table and was not crossing her arms and glowering vengefully at Aaron Burr. A stray hair that had escaped her tight hair bun did nothing to ease Burr’s fear of her—if anything, it meant she was already ready for a fight. Alex shuddered as he remembered the water cooler incident.

John Adams was on his phone, probably retweeting something he had seen earlier that day. He seemed more nervous than usual, fidgeting in his seat and pulling at his graying hairs more often, seeing as Alex and Jefferson looked ready to draw guns and declare a duel any minute. Alex didn’t blame him.

Molly Pitcher, not as young as she used to be, was busy getting her third (Fourth? Fifth? No one could tell) cup of water from the bubbler down the hall. Alex declined her offer to get him some, too. He didn’t want anything in his system.

Henry Knox was muttering something to himself, head in his hands. Alex excused him—his son had died this month, too. Tragedy in this office never seemed to cease.

Everyone else was either doodling one their papers (looking at you, James Madison) or waiting for Washington to come back.

He finally did come back, smiling brightly and… empty handed?

“Sir, umm, where are your notes?” Jefferson spoke up.

Washington beamed at him. “I’ve decided to try a new tactic. Ms. Schuyler,” Angelica looked up, bewildered, “your sister… Peggy? I think? Anyway, one of your sisters suggested a new plan that I like very much. Be sure to thank her for me later,” he finished. Alex almost smiled at Angelica’s clenched fists. She probably had no idea what Peggy was up to.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I would like to begin the meeting. Is everyone here?” The group collectively nodded.

Washington opened the powerpoint he had set up and flicked off the lights. Alex internally groaned. _Not another one of these. I swear to God, if she keeps this up, Peggy won’t live past 40._ On the screen, the two words that seemed to be the very bane of Alexander’s existence flashed, accompanied by five too many exclamation points:

**Cooperation Exercises!!!!!**

He was sure that Angelica got first dibs on berating Peggy once this meeting was over. It was her sister, after all.

Washington, oblivious to his employee’s reactions, pressed the screen and went on the next slide. Much to Alex’s horror, several bullet points in Comic Sans gave examples of the “cooperation exercises.” Among them included:

**Work Picnics and Parties!**

**Trust Falls!**

**Karaoke!**

Oh, God.

“As you can see here, we will be participating in one of these activities to grow as a company community. This is not a choice. I look forward to everyone joining in and strengthening bonds.”

Oh, God.

The next slide appeared. It showed a—

_Oh, God._

“Sir, did you create this powerpoint yourself?” Angelica’s voice was strained and she was obviously trying very hard not to fling herself out of her chair.

“No, actually, your sister did. She’s quite talented, right?” Well, in that room they say, Angelica’s eyes grew three sizes that day. Peggy was going to get it.

The slide in question showed an example of the “work picnic.” It was a gif from the Bee Movie. Peggy _really_ went too far.

“Excuse me.” Jefferson, Alexander and Angelica raced each other out of the room, probably attempting to escape from the abomination that was this presentation. Washington was slightly confused but muttered an “oh well” and continued the powerpoint. Alex almost felt bad for the rest of his co-workers, but then he remembered that at least it wasn’t him in there.

Needless to say, it was a much-needed break from the previous events of the month.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henry Knox's nine month old son died in September 1782. Why did so many bad things happen in 1782?
> 
> Peggy Schuyler died at the age of 42. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Also, next chapter: Thomas! Picnics! Fire! and more
> 
> feedback is much appreciated!!!!!


	6. its exactly like the bee movie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is in the POV of Thomas! Tommy J! TJeffs! idk
> 
> Also: I have no idea where they work. It's not in the White House, because they're all in New York, but it's not like a small business, either. Just... imagine cubicles. And conference rooms. That's it.

Mr. Washington’s idea of “fun” was much different than Thomas Jefferson’s.

For instance, Thomas liked curling up on a sofa at Monticello and write a few letters, maybe read from his collection (seriously, he had, like, 6,000 books in that library). Martha would come in and get him some champagne, and maybe he’d see Patsy or Polly sometime in the day. It would be raining, or snowing, depending on the season, and he’d get out a thick wool blanket and—

No. He refused to fantasize about silly things like that. He had work today, after all. Well, it wasn’t so much “work” as it was the much dreaded “work picnic,” but the amount of energy he would put into it would be the same. Besides, the picnic would take place after they had closed up.

Mr. Washington had bothered to put together a list of things the employees could supply, things like food and drinks and napkins. Thomas decided to bring paper plates—there was no way he was sharing his food with these people.

“Martha, where did you put the paper plates again? I don’t care if they’re patterned or striped or whatever—“ He stopped and realized that Martha wasn’t there. Instead of breaking down like Hamilton had (James and his sister gave him all the details of Alexander’s breakdown), he gripped the knob of the dark wooden cabinet and sucked it up, continuing the search to the rest of the kitchen. He had to leave in five minutes, they had to be here _somewhere…_

“Daddy? I thought you were picking me at school today?”

Thomas swirled around to see Polly, still in her paper-white lace nightgown, with an adorably confused look on her face. She was dragging her bear (his name was something like Francis) by his hand, his scarlet ribbon collar barely grazing the floor. Thomas still couldn’t comprehend how similar she looked like her mother.

“Sorry, Polly, I—something came up in work, that I need to, umm, take care of. Don’t worry, darling, Sally will take care of you. Remember Sally? Yeah?” He tried to crack a smile, but Polly wasn’t having it. She pouted and stomped her foot, pulling her eyebrows closer together.

“You promised me and Patsy that you’d pick us up today! You said we’d get ice cream after school!”

“Polly—“

“Momma would’ve gotten us ice cream!”

He blinked and tried to swallow the sudden lump in his throat.

“Polly, Momma’s not here anymore. I wish I could get you guys ice cream, but I can’t. Alright?” He, like any other parent, could sense the tears forming in Polly’s eyes, and threw open his arms for her to run into. She hugged him, tightly, and he desperately wanted that moment to last forever. However, a few seconds later all the clocks around the house began chiming, warning him to get in a car, and fast. The paper plates would have to be bought at the store, then.

“Say bye to Patsy for me, Polly,” he called as he waved goodbye. He wished Sally had gotten there earlier to keep them in bed. It was bad enough they had to keep reminding him that their Momma was better than he was.

The drive to work was long, lonely, and annoying. How could one highway have so many accidents, even at this time of day? Then again, New York drivers were always crazier than those in Virginia. Thomas quickly started thinking about making plans to go back and visit some relatives sometime soon.

He arrived at the doors at the same time as Aaron Burr. He murmured a sentence that could have been perceived as “good morning” and hurried on his way—dealing with co-workers that weren’t Alexander Hamilton wasn’t worth the time.

The workday carried on steadily: not much happened, as there was not much to do. People mainly kept to themselves, dreading the impending social event that was sure to be hell.

When the time finally came for them to drive to whatever park it was and set up the area before Washington got there, Thomas realized he had forgotten to buy the paper plates. Thankfully, someone spoke up:

“Don’t worry, I figured someone would forget something. Here are some plates.”

To Thomas’s surprise, it was Hamilton who had brought them. He realized he would have to thank him later. _Ew._

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen! Are you ready for a picnic?” Washington had arrived and seemed to be the only one smiling. “It’s such a nice day out, too.”

“Sure is, GWash,” Alexander called back. Thomas was appalled at his lack of respect— _GWash?_

The employees gathered around and, without further ado, began stacking food on their plates. Thomas was glad he had neglected to bring any food—Henry Knox’s stomach appeared to be a black hole.

Thomas picked out a few fruits and a small sandwich. He’d have a proper meal later, when _all those people_ didn’t surround him. Especially Hamilton.

Especially Hamilton, who had chosen to sit next to him for lunch.

“Excuse me?” was all Thomas could say. Sitting as far away as possible would be the least Hamilton could do for him right now.

“What? Is something wrong, Thomas?” Alexander said, grinning when he said “Thomas” like it was some kind of joke.

“Why are you sitting right next to me?”

“Why, I’m simply trying to strengthen my bond with my co-workers, of course. Now, what do you think of John Adams’ egg salad?”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “It couldn’t be worse.”

Alexander nodded his head. “Same here.” Thomas watched him as he took another bite of his sandwich, trying to detect a jest or something. Surely, Hamilton wouldn’t make conversation with his rival just because Washington said so.

After a few more moments of silence, Alexander spoke up again.

“Have you actually seen the Bee Movie?”

“Oh my God.”

“I know, right? Where did Jerry Seinfeld go wrong? I mean—a bee falls in love with a human, and then sues the human race? Umm, sorry to burst your bubble, Barry, but not every single human is a beekeeper. If you sued the entire human race, you’d also be suing your new girlfriend, who I doubt even realizes what she’s getting into and probably still thinks you’re a hallucination. Come on, Barry. We know that bees are better than that.”

Thomas let out a small laugh. Alexander smiled and continued.

“Also, if the bee world is so advanced, wouldn’t they have seen the twist coming? Why didn’t Barry consult with, you know, scientists, to make sure that this was a good idea? Anyway, he didn’t, so now none of the trees are getting pollinated or whatever—you know what? This doesn’t make any sense. I’m done. I mean it, Mr. Seinfeld. I’m never watching your TV show again. Even if it did have Julia Louis-Dreyfus.”

Thomas smiled. Alexander beamed.

“So, have you seen Shrek?”

The two went on explaining plot holes in other cult classics, such as Shrek 2 and the Air Bud series, and Thomas found himself having a good time, despite talking to Hamilton of all people. Hamilton himself even seemed to be enjoying it.

As time went on, people started leaving, such as Angelica ("Eliza wants me to provide support for her on her blind date") and Henry Knox ("I’m just tired, alright?"). The sun started to go down, and people started congregating under the shade of a nearby tree. However, this soon proved to be a mistake, as John Adams had the bright idea to move his new grill directly under the low-hanging leaves of the tree.

Washington was the first to notice. Smelling something smoking that definitely wasn’t hamburgers, he started to alert John Adams, who was having trouble flipping over one of the burnt burgers. Thus began the absolute chaos that would end the picnic.

Thomas began screaming that his clothes couldn’t catch on fire because they cost too much to take back; Molly Pitcher was sensible, and started calling 911, but decided that her throwing paper cups of water on the burning tree would somehow help; and John Adams fell asleep under the pressure.

Alexander began helping Washington get everyone away and suggested that he just drive everyone else home while he dealt with it. Washington was too angry with John Adams to say no.

That was how Thomas Jefferson ended up in the back seat of Alexander Hamilton’s car at 7:00 instead of with his kids, shivering slightly and frustrated with the day’s events.

“Well, hopefully it won’t get any worse,” Alexander said, chuckling, as the car broke down in the middle of the highway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops.
> 
> Martha Jefferson Randolph, also known as Patsy, was ten years old at the time of her mother's death. She helped take care of her father as he absorbed this information.
> 
> Mary Jefferson Eppes, also known as Polly, was only five years old at the same time. She married her cousin and lived only to 25.
> 
> Lucy Elizabeth Jefferson was actually the second Lucy Elizabeth; the first died the year prior, much to their parents' grief. The second one died when she was two years old.
> 
> In all, Thomas Jefferson was a very sad man.


	7. alex reminisces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this! is! so! short! but don't worry the next one'll be better

Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton, enemies since their first day together, were now pulled over on the side of a busy road in the same silver Chevy Cruze. Thomas wished he was home, at his dinner table with Patsy and Polly; Alexander wished he was still at the office, putting the final touches on December’s schedule. Neither wanted to be in the same car as each other at night, jammed in both traffic and awkward silences.

Alex started tapping his foot and playing with his hair, taking it out of its bun as Thomas dialed a number on his phone that he said “would help them out.” Alex wasn’t sure if it was actually people who could help or a rogue gang of truck drivers looking for cash; he decided that it didn’t really matter, as anything would probably be better than having to spend the night alone in a car with Thomas Jefferson, of all people. Hell, he’d been fine dealing with the mafia, as long as he gets home at the end of the day.

It was around 7:30 now. Alex checked his watch every minute—it was the bronze-plated one John had gotten him last Christmas. The minute hand was always a minute late, but that was okay, because it was still a very beautiful watch. Having a flaw only added to its character. Alex shook his head fondly, recalling the lost memories, and looked out his window at the blinking lights of the New York skyline. In a way, they replaced the stars, flashing and drawing attention to them, almost providing a pathway of light.

Alex was snapped out of his thoughts by a knock on Thomas’s window. Thank God, it wasn’t some out of place Serbian mafia gang, but… the men who had didn’t seem all that keen on helping someone with a broken down car out.

Thomas quickly got out of the car and rapidly started talking to the man who had knocked on his window. Alex was about to get out, too, to listen in, but Thomas slammed the door shut just before he could. Instead, he was left to be content with watching Thomas converse with the shady-looking guy (seriously—who wears sunglasses at night?), amused by the occasional exaggerated and frantic hand gesture from Thomas. The guy didn’t look too happy with the situation, but after another minute of listening to Thomas, he finally looked over the car, nodded once, and talked to the rest of his men. Alexander couldn’t help but start fidgeting again as he saw Thomas—Thomas Jefferson, of all people—rub his chin nervously.

At last, Thomas opened the door to let Alex out. The night’s air hit him with a blast, and he made a mental note to get a new winter coat. His blue one was falling apart and the zipper never worked when he needed it. Besides, blue wasn’t really his color.

The men—Alexander could now count four of them—led Thomas and Alex to another car and hustled them in. Gee, this isn’t sketchy at all, Alex thought. He tried not to think about how similar the small car resembled one of John’s turtles that he would always draw. Green, hunched, only bearing the slightest bit of elegance.

Alex sighed in his seat. Great, he was so lovesick he couldn’t even look at a car without linking it to John. He should save all those thoughts for the funeral.

The funeral was sometime in the next week. Alex was so tired, he didn’t bother trying to remember if it was Thursday or Friday.

He didn’t object when one of the men drove him and Thomas home. He didn’t question how they knew where he lived.

He didn’t complain when Thomas insisted he escort him to his front door, at least, and didn’t make a fuss about it when Thomas’s hand lingered on his back a little too long.

He didn’t protest when Eliza called him to say she would schedule to meet him soon and check up on him.

He did, however, get upset when he realized there wasn’t any more liquor in the fridge, and that there was nothing left of the chocolate in the bottom right cabinet’s jar. Alex would have to go to bed a little more hungry, then.

He tried not to shift or stir too much when a nightmare interrupted his sleep that night. He was tired enough.

Alex was tired enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: EJRBHLFWLMEILHRUV BXJEF JOHN'S FUNERAL FUIUH2IEMFENFXQMHIEU
> 
> i also forgot to mention that the man with sunglasses on (at night omg #edgy) was totally benny franks in my head but honestly he can be whoever you want him to be


	8. there is no "fun" in "funeral"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ITS FINALLY HERE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgive me, i haven't been to a funeral in a while, and besides we usually have a wake first
> 
> it's not going to be, like, super militaristic because?????? i have never been to that kind of funeral?????? im so sorry im a mess

The funeral was probably the quietest place Alex had ever been too, besides his house.

He arrived there first, but was soon accompanied by the Schuylers and Hercules Mulligan. No grand entrance was made; no one announced themselves; thankfully, no one was late. Everyone was too consumed with grief to mention it if someone was, anyway.

Alex made the best conversation during the reception he could while still holding it together. He didn’t trust himself to hold a glass of wine and stand at the same time, so he resigned himself to sitting in the musty old chair in the corner, occasionally saying hello to people as they walked around aimlessly. At least Eliza was there to keep him company as all of John’s former friends strolled by, blandly telling Alex exactly where and how they met. By the fifth “oh, old high school friends, you know?” Alex was ready to just get on with the ceremony.

Lafayette walked through the door just when Alex was grabbing another glass for Eliza. They spread his arms wide, enveloping Alexander in the biggest hug since Hercules. The two didn’t exchange many words: what needed to be said was said, but they both knew that feelings of grief were mutual. For once, Alex didn’t feel the need to waste words.

He didn’t remember planning much of the commemoration; he’d just followed what the funeral director suggested. Alex knew he had probably spent way more than he needed to, but honestly, he couldn’t care less about what color the flowers were or if he wanted the coffin to made out of real California cedar. John was, and always would be, the only significance in Alex’s life.

It wasn’t an open casket type of thing. He wouldn’t be able to bear to look, anyway.

He shouldn’t have been surprised when he spotted Washington among the crowd—he was as much of a father figure to John as he was to Alex. They’d had some good times. At least it was better than having Henry Laurens as a father.

Speak of the devil—Henry Laurens arrived in an overly expensive suit, quickly followed by John’s several siblings. Alex and Henry made swift eye contact, frowned at each other, but carried on. It would be no use speaking to each other.

Soon it was time for eulogies. Alex trudged up to the wooden stand they had set up, arm hooked around Eliza for support, and arranged a few stray papers one last time. The original eulogy was almost 15 pages, but Eliza coaxed him into only reading the first couple. Dwelling too much on them had made Alex near tears, and he really didn’t want another episode again—especially in front of more people. He had compromised, however, saying that he would keep the original one at home to look over later.

He cleared his throat and looked out at everyone else. Taking several deep breaths, Alex shut his eyes and started to recite from memory. The deep, searing words were still fresh in his mind: this is how he worked best, from memory. The heat of the moment overtook him, and he began.

“John Laurens, my faithful husband since three years by December, has never ceased to amaze me and others. From teaching people that all love is, indeed, equal,”—a side glance at Henry Laurens—“to reminding us all that tortoises can live to see the centuries pass,”—this earned only a few sad smiles, no laughter, of course—“John has always been present in our hearts, our minds, and our lives.” Deep breath. “Because the world has an oddly twisted sense of justice, John was taken from us—from me—on August 27th of this year. This fact has caused his dearest and nearest friends nothing but sorrow,“ –Keep those eyes dry, damnit—“and me nothing but heartbreak. All John had was a heart that was never could never filled with love, a wish that could never come true, and a family that could never care less.” Alex spared a look at Henry Laurens, who had quirked one eyebrow and opened his mouth but soon closed it. None of the others produced a reaction.

“Now, listen. I’m not going to tell you that John would’ve wanted us to move on with our lives or something like that, because he wouldn’t.” Alex opened his eyes and stared earnestly at the small crowd of people. “He’d want us to bawl our eyes out until we can’t tell the difference between the tears and the wine. He’d want us to exchange funny stories about when he was younger and tried to climb a tree and fell and broke his arm but refused to wear a cast for an entire week. He’d want us to dress up in our best black suits and dresses, go to his funeral, and remember him. He’d want to make an impact, like—John Laurens wanted a legacy. Let’s at least give him that, ‘cause the world didn’t seem to give him anything at all.” God, now the tears were coming. Alex took a few more shaky breaths before Eliza caught on and grabbed his arm once more. He almost stumbled back to his seat, still shaking, and had to keep holding on to Eliza. She didn’t mind, and merely nodded, staring blankly ahead.

The rest of the funeral passed much quicker than Alex thought it would. He expected long, droning talks, ones at least drawn out long enough for him to gather enough strength to not bawl his eyes out. Instead, the memories and anecdotes were told smoothly and solemnly. Only a few people talked, Alex included. Henry Laurens did not talk; he simply watched from his seat in the front left corner.

The fall weather had chose to provide a proper rain shower for the burial. The splashing and squelching of thick boots in puddles only added to the effect. Alex decided that this was fitting—as his mind wandered throughout the ceremony, he came upon the conclusion that the sun itself was in mourning.

While the coffin was lowered into the grave, Alex whispered a short but heartfelt “I love you.” The truth hit him so hard sometimes, sometimes too hard. Now was one of those times. He could barely walk back to his car afterwards, between the tears and the lack of an umbrella.

Eliza invited him over to the Schuyler house, and Alex gladly accepted. He knew that Peggy kept a steady supply of drinks.

It stopped raining about halfway during the ride there. He sighed, refusing to look out the side window, at how the sun had come out again. There was no point of the sun if John wasn’t there to show it to Alex.

The night ended with Alex, Eliza, Angelica, and Peggy all curled up on the couch, bottles in hand, blankets on laps, talking about John. They talked about his greatest moments, his worst failures, his funniest jokes, and his saddest stories—everything about him, ranging from his strange but endearing love of turtles to how terrible his father could possibly be. They talked about everything John, and everything he did that led to them becoming friends—for Alex, more than friends—and what they did ever since then.

Alex fell asleep on the couch, and woke up there, too. It was because of this he knew that the Schuylers were his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to quote texting fic that im addicted to: "and im EMO now"
> 
> don't worry, the next chapters will be (a lil bit) better <3
> 
> comment!!!! kudos!!!! ily guys so much
> 
> update: screams OK so guys im being a lil emo right now so i listened to patd's "the end of all things" and OMG ITS ABOUT SARAH AND BRENDON'S WEDDING VOWS BUT IMAGINE ALEX i cry so much


	9. #teens: is #KILLary bad at #email because she's #femail?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> don't hate the title ok its from the extremely satirical gop teens twitter account

~

From: tjeffs@  
Subject: A Matter Concerning the 6th of October

Hamilton,

I realize that we’ve really only tolerated each other since recent days, but right now I need someone by my side. You are hereby formally invited to Martha’s funeral, which will be held on the 6th of October. Please, dress formally and don’t mess anything up.

-Thomas Jefferson

~

From: eggyschuyler@  
Subject: YO DAWG

yo ham !!!! I need some f fmoney . right now. Elziaed has phi philup and I want drinsk!

~

From: eggyschuyler@  
Subject: no

I apologize for the previous email.

~

From: elizaschuyler@  
Subject: Meetup

Alex,

When should we meet up and talk? I want to make sure you’re doing okay and spend more time with you. John was everyone’s friend. I can’t make it next week because I made previous arrangements, but let me know if you’re open!

-Luv, Eliza

~

From: gwash@  
Subject: Group Karaoke

To all:

I am deeply sorry to say that the karaoke place I had scheduled is full of orders (surprisingly!) and we will not be able to make it. Don’t fret, however, I have great plans for Christmas soon. Just remember to check any email I send you!

~

From: angelschuyler@  
Subject: wtf

Does George seriously expect to get away with throwing shade at a karaoke place in a group email?

~

From: laurensh@  
Subject: none

Alexander Hamilton,

I have scheduled an appointment with you soon. Watch your back.

~

From: gibbylaf@  
Subject: mon amie! I still do not exactly understand how this works? I am, how you say, this is not working

subject

~

From: hercshorses@  
Subject: Lafayette

Don’t worry about it, I’m teaching Laf how to figure out his email account. I think Laf already sent, like, twelve emails of the same kind to Peggy? I don’t know. Sit tight, buddy.

~

From: elizaschuyler@  
Subject: ?

Alex, please respond to your emails. No matter what, I care about you. I'll meet you soon.

-Eliza

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, at least no one died


	10. the eliza interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some fluff to make you feel better! also i think that at least like 90% of all fics should be able to pass the bechdel test. i mean come on. you feel?
> 
> *lights white house on fire with firecrackers* HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY

“Hey, Ange, does this color look good on me?”

“Eliza, you always look good in blue. Besides, blue is a universally popular color, everyone loves you in it.”

“Thanks.”

Eliza and Angelica Schuyler were having a girl’s night out: among shopping, activities included gossiping about co-workers, prank calling the guys at work, and watching whatever they could find on Netflix. They were currently strolling through the aisles of some thrift shop, both looking at things they actually wanted to get and things they would never even imagine spending money on. For instance: the sky blue dress that Eliza found was something she would totally wear on a date. Meanwhile, a pair of wooden shoes shaped like bongs were not.

While treating herself like this was always fun, Eliza couldn’t help worrying about certain things. The top two on her list were people: Alex Hamilton, and Maria Lewis.

Alex was obviously taking take to get better. He needed support, and Eliza felt bad whenever she couldn’t be there for him, event though she knew he had more friends than that. Still, the image of Alex, sitting alone on an otherwise empty pew at that church… she couldn’t shake anything now. Terrible thoughts kept gnawing at the back of her head, and no amount of shopping for cute things would fix that.

Maria Lewis was someone completely different. For one, Eliza was still interested in dating her. The two had met at a new park Eliza had taken her students to for a field trip. She looked absolutely stunning, her brown hair swept to one side under the curve of her neck, standing out against her bright scarlet lipstick. Eliza was able to smooth out her skirt and sit down next to her without babbling embarrassingly; that must mean she at least had a chance.

Eliza and Maria had talked all the while, sitting on the stiff green bench for most of the afternoon, about home, kids, their love lives (Maria didn’t offer up much information on that topic, though) and other, deeper stuff, like how mental health should be taken more seriously and what other people can do to make sure that abuse survivor’s voices are heard.

She had left the park with a swelling heart that day, and the entire week her brain hummed with thoughts of Maria. She had decided not to tell Angelica; she’d probably try to set her up with her, investigate her without telling anyone, or a combination of the two. Eliza still wanted time to figure out whatever Maria’s… situation was. When she talked, Eliza could tell there was some kind of subtext underneath the words, or a riddle she needed to solve, but couldn’t understand it. Oh well—at least she’d been able to exchange numbers with her.

“Eliza? You still with me?”

She blinked. Angelica had moved to the other side of the store, checking out several beach hats that had leopard patterns on them. Knowing Angelica, she could probably pull that look off with the right swimsuit.

“Yeah, just thinking about something.” She paused a cursed under her breath. That was not the excuse you should ever use with Angelica.

Her sister raised a penciled eyebrow. “What was that?”

“Nothing?”

“Eliza.”

“Y—yes?”

“You can always talk to me, okay?” Angelica turned around, taking one of the hats with her, and spread her arms. Eliza walked right into the hug, holding her tight, and closed her eyes.

“The past month has just been so much, you know?”

“Yeah. I know.”

“With John… and Alex… and I, I just don’t know what else I can do—“

“Hey.”

Angelica took Eliza’s face in her hands, inspecting it for any tears. There were none.

“Yeah, Ange?”

“You don’t have to do anything. From what I’ve seen, you’ve been the best friend and the best person anyone could want, alright? There’s no use beating yourself up for doing good. Everyone takes their time with this stuff, Eliza. It’ll be alright.”

Eliza sniffed, wiping her eyes again for any tears. She nodded and tried smiling. It felt good.

“Thanks, Ange.”

Angelica smiled and let Eliza go explore the rest of the store. “And don’t forget to walk around a bit more—exercise releases endorphins that make you happy. Everyone needs a bit more happiness right now.”

The rest of the shopping trip passed without a problem. Eliza elected herself to drive, as Angelica took the duty of bringing in all the bags of stuff they bought.

During the ride, they discussed which movies to watch on Netflix. Neither wanted to watch a romcom or an action movie but both of them wanted something with LGBT characters. It was still undecided by the time they got home.

“Hey, what was that one that we watched the time when Peggy couldn’t make it, but then invited, like, half of her contacts list and it ended with only you and Alex watching it?” Angelica flicked through the options, looking very bored and

Eliza shrugged. “I forget. I don’t think anyone was sober when we saw it, so…”

Angelica rolled her eyes. “I’ll check it out. You get the popcorn.”

“Fine.”

“And don’t forget the pineapple soda this time!”

Eliza sighed. She still wasn’t sure which side of the family Angelica got her strange taste in drinks from.

She still smiled when Angelica brought up the movie, stole a few pieces of popcorn from Eliza’s pile, and curled up with a blanket.

“I love you, sis.”

“I love me, too.”

“Ange.”

“Okay, okay. I love you too.”

“Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think! im always a sucker for comments


	11. its just like chapter 8 ok

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martha's funeral, and some feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so ignore how inaccurate this would be in real life (besides i mean obviously but) ok like funerals dont take place AN ENTIRE MONTH after someone died but just. for art

When Alex woke up on the 6th of October, he almost didn’t remember that it was the day of Martha Jefferson’s funeral. Even then, he forgot that he was even invited. It was Sunday—that meant he’d either spend the whole day working on something he forgot on Friday, or he’d sleep all day. Thankfully, he had set out his nice suit last night.

“Two funerals in a month, huh, John?” he muttered as he fixed his dark gray tie in the mirror. “Crazy. Just crazy.”

He arrived at the church where it was being held early, took one look at it, and almost drove back. It was stuffy and old, and he couldn’t imagine staying inside that thing for longer than an hour. However, he pulled through because Thomas said he needed him, and took a step inside.

He realized it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be—the architecture really was stunning, and something calming washed over him. Still, he wasn’t a particularly religious man, so the effect was somewhat lacking, but he continued to pull through.

The service was quieter than John’s, even though there were way more people. Alex could barely believe he was in the same room as some of them. He knew that Thomas Jefferson had connections, but not these type of connections. It wasn’t just politicians, either. He was sure he could spot a Broadway actor or actress, or two, in the pews across from him.

Somber music had flooded the church, and Alex had realized that Thomas was one of the men carrying Martha’s casket. It was dull and bluish—much unlike Thomas himself. Well, Martha Jefferson must’ve been some woman to have stayed with Thomas the rest of her life.

Alex hadn’t much cared for church before John died. It just didn’t interest him. The Jeffersons, however, had been avid church-goers and weren’t shy about it.

The entire procession was much longer, and soon Alex found himself missing the company of friends. The only Schuyler invited had been Angelica (for some reason unbeknownst to Alex) and she was sitting in the back, next to an old friend—something-beginning-with-M Cosway. Alex had never heard of her.

Thomas’s eulogy brought him (and most likely the entire church) to tears and no, he couldn’t think about death too long again, he has to stop. It pained Alex to hear words so similar to his own—two men, reading the eulogies of their late spouses, both with opposing views but broken hearts.

Alex himself barely spoke. He feared his voice would betray him.

The familiar smell of flowers—Alex hated that the scent was now familiar to him—wafted throughout the creaking building, reminding him of the lilies that used to grow on his front lawn. He hadn’t watered them in a while, he realized. That would have to be fixed. At least he’d remembered to feed Philip the turtle.

He finally got the chance to look around the rest of the crowd, and was slightly surprised to find that Washington hadn’t made an appearance. James Madison was there, though, as was—wait, was that Aaron Burr? Alex must have missed a lot, because last time he checked, Thomas Jefferson wasn’t friends with Aaron Burr.

His two daughters were there, too—both had nicknames beginning with a P. He held back a sigh—those little black dresses didn’t deserve to be worn. No kid that small should have to go to a funeral.

Alex still remained silent. Speech was slightly difficult at the moment, and besides, he wasn’t in the right mood to talk.

However, he felt the need to when he found Thomas, tie halfway off with tears staining his usually crisp white shirt, on the floor next to the men’s bathroom. His hair was ruffled and some strands stuck out more than others, and after watching him a few seconds Alex realized it was because he had run his hands over it too many times. Thomas had looked up and smiled, but the tired look in his eyes that was all too familiar to Alex revealed that it was all a façade.

“So, having a good time?” Alex could barely stand how defeated Thomas sounded. His disheveled look wasn’t helping much. His voice sore and scratchy, like he’d been yelling for too long, and didn’t even try hiding it.

“Thomas—Thomas, what happened?”

Thomas splayed his hands around him, like he was gesturing to everything around him, and shrugged. “I’m at my wife’s funeral. I’m nearly forty. I’m never going to marry again. My life just gets worse and worse by the minute, and yet, I’m still here, at my wife’s funeral. A lot happened, Hamilton.”

Alex kept staring at him until he spoke again, his voice cracking.

“I can’t face it out there, Ham. It’s too much. The girls—I can’t face them and let them call me their Papa without Martha being there, by my side.”

Alex surprised himself by taking another look at Thomas, sitting down next to him, and talking to him. He started to comfort Thomas Jefferson—who, a month ago, was his rival and self-proclaimed nemesis—and took his hand in his hand.

Neither of them cried—just talked things out. Thomas talked about the way Martha always had the right thing to say when he got home from work every day, and Alex talked about the way John had this beautiful but melancholy look whenever he remembered his family from the South. Thomas talked about how he would always buy a bouquet of flowers for Martha every week, even if he had to drive to a different state to get them in the winter, and Alex talked about how he had always mentioned getting a dog to John but being met with calls of, “You’re not getting a dog if I’m not getting a turtle.” The two laughed, smiled, scowled, pouted, and beamed, but did not cry.

Alex was sure he could see the sky growing very dark from one of the church’s clear windows, but didn’t think much of it.

“Did you hear about the time Martha wanted something new for dessert?”

“No—what?”

“OK, ok—so, basically, she was getting sick of the cookies my dad had sent for our anniversary—they were terrible cookies, anyway—and I though to myself, ‘well, I need to get her something nice, maybe I’ll try something new—“

“Yeah?”

“And so, I went out to this local market—a tiny little shop—and bought, like, half of their supply of ice cream, and made this huge, extravagant ice cream bowl for her.”

“Oh my god—“

“She told me she loved it, but at night I was sure I heard someone taking out the trash—“

“She didn’t!”

“And when I woke up the next morning, it was all in the garbage!”

Alex and Thomas had been sitting on the floor for god-knows-how-long and weren’t making any plans on moving, despite how awful their jokes were getting and how close Thomas was getting to tearing up. However, Alex’s stomach rumbled, so loud that both of them stopped talking for a minute and stared before erupting into another bout of laughter.

“Hey, Thomas, did you bring any beer here?” Alex giggled and started to get up, in search of something to clear his head. Thomas became subdued and broke his smile, pulling on Alex’s sleeve to bring him down to the floor again.

“Alexander,” Thomas started, and Alex almost stopped because of the way he said his name, “Promise me you won’t drink. Not here.” His voice was urgent, but something else lay beneath it. Alex decided to dwell on that later.

“I’m just a bit thirsty, is all,” Alex responded quietly, letting Thomas’s hand fall from his grasp. He didn’t appear to notice Thomas’s look of sadness at the loss of contact and the quick cover-up smile that followed.

“Promise me, Alexander. Drinking isn’t the right thing to do,” Thomas started softly, but drifted off when Alex began walking away.

“It’s alright, Thomas. I’d better be getting home soon, anyways.” With that, Alex left him, and thought disheartened, Thomas reappeared among the crowd of his wife’s funeral several minutes later, tie readjusted, suit coat back on his shoulders, a fake attitude of courage and a real expression of disappointment.

He did not see Alex for the rest of the duration of the ceremony.

When the two got back to work on Monday, both found themselves wanting to talk more. Neither brought it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://mentalfloss.com/article/62565/5-foods-thomas-jefferson-introduced-or-made-popular-america  
> aka thomas jefferson also loved ice cream


	12. october, october, send a recovering alex right over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the rest of october before the Four Days of Absolute Mayhem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgive me

The rest of October passed smoothly. Well, up until the last four days, but that was another chapter in the tragedy.

Eliza had met with Alex, and God, was she a sight for sore eyes. His house was so lonely, with no pets, no kids, and no John. She had arrived in the afternoon, bringing a small bag of Alex’s favorite chocolates along with her, and they stayed up until midnight talking. No one else had bothered much to visit him, let alone bring sweets.

“If you don’t mind me asking—what do you miss most about John?” Eliza took a sip of her water, setting it down on the wooden counter gently, and leaned a bit closer to Alex. Now, they were sitting out on the back porch, watching the sunset behind the garden’s trees. Fiery orange beams lit up the sky, splattered with the occasional blue or purple. It reminded Eliza of something John would paint.

It took less than five seconds for Alex to answer. “I know it sounds cliché, but—his smile.” His face wove into a half-smile, as if remembering John fondly, and Eliza couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Sympathy was the last thing Alexander wanted, of course, but seeing him so hopelessly wishing for John to be alive again made her heart brake.

Alex had poured a small glass of wine for himself. Eliza had noticed, but wasn’t sure what to say—maybe he was just treating himself, after all.

Later in the night, when the stars had taken back control of the sky and Alex had pulled on a sweater to fend off the cold, Eliza again had another question.

“Well, you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but…”

Alex looked over at her, propping himself up on an elbow.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you’ll ever date again?”

At first, Alex brushed it off, trying to add humor to the situation.

“Oh, come on, Liza, are you still not over me?” She did not return his playful grin.

“Alex, seriously. I know that John was your light, your sunshine, your everything, whatever you want to call him. I honestly think that he made you the best, happiest, you that you could ever be. But… I don’t know. I don’t think you can function as well without someone by your side—someone who loves you and cares for you, too.”

“Oh, please. Eliza, If you want me back, just say so.” Alex rolled his eyes for effect. Eliza still didn’t react.

“Alex, stop trying to deflect. Besides, I’m already dating someone.”

“Wait, what?” His face fell, and he was searching for some kind of signal that she was joking, too, but couldn’t find one.

“Jesus—do you seriously think I was going to stay single, too? I’ve been meeting with her for a few dates by now. She’s really sweet, and funny, and—well, the point is, Alex, I’m happy with someone, and I think you should be, too.”

Alex dropped his gaze to the ground. After a solid minute of silence, he whispered back to Eliza.

“She?”

“Yeah. Her name’s Maria.”

They didn’t talk about romance or dating for the rest of her visit.

~

Meanwhile, the workplace had lots more drama than Alex’s home life—Burr almost got fired for sleeping with an ambassador from another company they had been working with. No one had managed to realize that Theodosia Prevost, the ambassador, was “Theo”—aka, the woman everyone thought Burr had been married to. Obviously, people were very confused.

Washington had been absolutely furious, not only because this woman was _married for heavens sake_ , but because it had severely damaged ties with the company and they weren’t allowed to do any more work with them. Thomas had agreed with him, reprimanding Burr with a haughty look on his face (though, honestly, when was Thomas _not_ haughty) and made a statement the following day:

“Marriage should be respected and never taken for granted. The entire office is deeply disappointed with Mr. Burr’s foolish actions. What should be appreciated is simply not appreciated nowadays,” he finished with a huff. Alex found himself taking in Jefferson’s words and actually thinking about them without pushing them away first, and found that, well, he _didn’t_ disagree with him. That was certainly a first.

~

Over the course of the next week, Alex spent more time with Thomas at work. Instead of leaving the office as possible merely to get away from each other as soon as possible, they spoke with each other, and one time Alex actually sat in Thomas’s personal swivel chair just to have a conversation.

They ate together, too. Almost everyone was baffled when, in the sunny and golden part of the afternoon, Thomas pulled up a chair and had lunch with his former nemesis. Even Washington was mystified when neither of them even _tried_ to start a food fight.

“What’s everyone looking at?” Alex asked one time, trying to chew a small bite of the sandwich he had bought at a Subway. That was another thing—Thomas had convinced Alex to have lunch, something that even John couldn’t do sometimes.

Thomas only let out a sharp bark of a laugh. “Us.”

When Alex turned to Thomas with an almost adorable look of confusion, Thomas bit back another snicker. “They’re wondering why we’re eating together, Alex,” he finally answered after watching Alex look a bit ridiculous for a few moments more.

“Well, we’re friends now, aren’t we?” Alex really was very perplexed. He said this as if it was general knowledge.

Thomas paused for a second before answering. It was harder for him to realize that yeah, they really were closer now. Funny how death can change things.

“Yeah, I guess we are, ‘Lex,” Thomas said, smirking a bit to himself at the nickname.

Alex immediately pouted. Ok, now he looked adorable. “Don’t call me that!”

“Alright, alright. Finish your sandwich.” Thomas poked the sub with his fork like a mother encouraging a kid to clear his plate.

Alex finished his sandwich and drunk some water, too. People had no idea what was happening, how all of a sudden Alex— _Alexander Hamilton_ , for the sake of God—was now all buddy-buddy with _Thomas Jefferson_ , of all people. However, no one asked anything, so neither of them had to answer.

~

“Hey, John, it’s me.”

Alex was visiting John’s grave every week now. His tombstone had no quote, no family members’ name, no grand bust of his face—just his name, John Laurens, and two dates: October 28th-August 27th. Alex still thought it was beautiful, especially when he laid the flowers down next to it.

“I’m coping. I’m getting better, John. You’d like that, right?”

He couldn’t help feeling out-of-place here, where everything seemed so neat and orderly, while he was a mess.

“Well, I mean, I’m trying to get better. Same thing. I hope.”

He felt like a character from a sit-com or a movie or something: a dramatic scene at a cemetery, a character’s heartfelt speech to a lost loved one, something like that. He hated that feeling.

“At the end of every day, I feel like I’m gonna relive that day. The day you died. I feel weak in my knees, I want to brake down, I want—John, I—“ Alex hugged himself to keep himself from doing exactly what he was saying, from breaking down and never getting back up again.

_“I miss you.”_

~

A day later, he found himself in a local brewery, buying several six-packs and paying for all of them this time. He rubbed away the exhaustion from his eyes as he checked the price.

The clerk was clearly bored and didn’t want to be here. She took his credit card and checked it lazily.

“You havin’ a party, sir?”

Alex looked up. “What? Oh, umm, yeah.”

He felt it would better to lie than explain why. He left the store without a bag and got home as soon as possible.

~

John’s birthday was in a day. John’s birthday was in a day, and Alex was late to work.

When he finally got up—realizing he had fallen asleep on the kitchen floor in the process—he woke to the sound of his alarm blaring from several rooms away, as it had been for at least an hour now.

As he passed a mirror while trying to get to his room, he checked his face.

_Holy—_

His hair was ruffled and had been pulled out of its ponytail. His face was smudged with something—was that cake? Chocolate? He was scared to find out.

Even after he took the shortest shower imaginable—4 and a half minutes, exactly—and changed into fresh, clean clothes, Alex could tell that something still smelled off. After taking a few sniffs, he remembered that he’d been drinking last night.

_Shit._

“Hey, Washington?” Alex practically squeaked as he dialed his boss’s number. He was _not_ going to be happy.

“Alex, I can’t excuse you from this again, understand?”

“Yessir.” Alex threw the phone in his bag and left. He might have to call someone to drive him to work, because the train wouldn’t make another stop near him in almost forty-five minutes.

~

Two hours earlier, Thomas was again trying to break the news to his kids.

“Polly, come on—you know that I can’t stay here too long. It’s a long ride to my work, and besides, what about Sally, she’s nice—“

“Sally isn’t the same as you, Papa! Why don’t you get it?” Patsy was throwing a tantrum of some sort, Polly was crying into Thomas’s shoulder, and they were all gathered in baby Lucy’s room, who was presently wailing uncontrollably.

“Y’all need to pull through this. I won’t always be here for you. Y’all need to understand this,” Thomas said as he rose from the floor. Polly switched to crying into his pant leg, and Patsy calmed down a little bit. He was thankful—at least the ten year old was listening.

“I’ll be home soon today. Sally will make sure the food’s better this time,” he called, and walked out the door and out of the house. He wished there was an easier way for him to care for these kids by himself.

~

When Thomas got to work that day, he was struck with a thought.

Well, since his intelligence was way above average, that was common, but this was one that stood out from all the others.

_I called Alex adorable._

_That other day, when he needed to eat that ridiculously large sub._

_Shit._

_I called my friend adorable._

_In my head, though—_

_Shut up._

_Oh my God._

_Shit._

He sat in his swivel chair, spinning absentmindedly, until Angelica stormed past his door, a look of fury on her face.

“What’s up, Ange?”

“Don’t call me that,” she huffed quickly, and Thomas stopped spinning for a moment as his mind went back to when Alex said the exact same thing. Her next words brought him back to the present, however.

“Alex hasn’t made it to work yet. He should’ve been here an hour ago.”

Damn. Alex just had to find his way into every corner of Thomas’s mind that morning, didn’t he?

“Well, I don’t know anything, so—“

A loud bang interrupted him from finishing his sentence. Half the office looked over and found that Alex was standing in the doorway, most of his hair blown to the side (because of the wind outside, he guessed), looking like he’d just seen a ghost.

“Hey, everyone.”

He kept his head down as he headed to his chair, masking the humiliation he most definitely felt right now. Thomas almost called out to speak with him privately, but ultimately thought against it, as he was still trying to comprehend the fact that _oh my God I thought Alex was cute._

Alex worked without any outbursts or shouts. Thomas decided not to mention that Alex still smelled like cheap alcohol as they ate lunch, and Alex decided not to mention Thomas's flushed face when he reached over him for a napkin. Talking was obviously not on the agenda that day. Both men left the office as soon as possible.

Little did they know, the next four days would cause nothing but even more drama and tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't add the years to John's grave bc this story should be ~timeless~. (Yeah, yeah, i know, they have iphones and stuff but still)
> 
> lol that ending sure was dramatic ;;;;DDDDDDD
> 
> up next on every1's fav sitcom, _1782_ : HELL HELL HELL HELL HELL HELL ABORT MISSION ABORT HELL HELL HELL


	13. The First Day of Absolute Mayhem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It's John's birthday. October 28th._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To quote President Obama: "When people say Black Lives Matter, it doesn't mean that blue lives don't matter."
> 
> Stay strong, America.

It’s John’s birthday. October 28th.

Alex manages to wake up at a decent time for him—around 4:30, when the very beginnings of yellow streaks are fading in from the window. He opened the curtains with a flourish, watching the dust fly off like dandelion fluff. There’s something soothing about watching it—he can’t put his finger on it, but doesn’t worry about it. It’s calming.

He made pancakes for himself—one, he tried to make in the shape of a turtle, but it ended up looking more like Ted Cruz’s face whenever he denied being the Zodiac Killer. Disgusted in himself, he flipped the demon pancake into Philip the turtle’s cage and let him do whatever he wanted with it. Philip ended up sleeping on it.

“I don’t even like pancakes that much,” Alex muttered as he bit into one of the chocolate chip ones. The entire batch was thin and bitter. He chucked the rest into the trash half-heartedly and went on to take his shower.

John and Alex didn’t usually take showers together. They’d tried it once, and quickly figured out that for one of them to get out of it without a busted kneecap or a broken skull, neither of them was allowed to move. After a short discussion, they’d decided that neither of them was willing to pay for a bigger shower just so they could take one together.

Alex decided to use the old conditioner that John always insisted he use—it was orange and thick and his hair felt extraordinarily soft whenever he did use it. John liked to play with Alex’s hair when he got to stay home for a few weeks, and Alex couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it.

Before walking out the door, he tucked a crumpled sheet of paper into one of his pockets. It was the first letter he’d tried to write John—as in, a love letter. He had been embarrassed by it at first and tried to hide it, but John had found it in one of the cardboard boxes when they moved in and read it aloud, much to the delight of Alex’s friends. It’d gotten him a caring kiss on the cheek from John, though, so he considered it a success.

On his desk, a large package wrapped in shiny blue wrapping paper—somewhat Halloween-themed, he sees—lies under his lamp. He read the side of it first, and is surprised at what’s written there:

**From: Eliza <3  
To: John <3**

Why would Eliza send this?

He picked up the package and saw that an envelope was attached to the back. Tearing it open, his fingers shaking a little bit—he didn’t seem to notice—Alex’s face paled. What if this was some kind of joke from the office? Was somebody playing with him?

He read the letter and, thank God, Eliza just wanted him to have the present. She’d bought it in early August because she wanted everything about it to be perfect, but… well.

_Dear Alexander,_

_John was one of the best friends I’d ever had, and he was the best husband he could ever be to you. It breaks my heart to know that he couldn’t receive this present himself, but I think that it’s better off with you than sitting in my attic for a century. He loved you more than anyone else ever could. I really do hope you know that. So, without further ado, here is John’s 28th birthday present._

_Love,  
Eliza_

Alex looked at the letter, looked at the present, back at the letter, and back at the present, and ended up deciding he would open it at the end of the day. He’d probably have nowhere to put it, anyway.

An hour passed. Everyone else in the office had arrived, most still carrying their coffee cups around. Alex always kept his in a silver thermos John had gotten him, but that was in the dishwasher today.

Thomas had gotten there as early as Alexander, but he wasn’t speaking to anyone. Everyone saw this as very intimidating—“I bet he’s saving his voice for today’s meeting,” Molly Pitcher had mentioned while both her and Alex waited at a bubbler for some water—but Alex’s first guess was that Thomas was trying to cover something up. He wasn’t the type to keep quiet about something, but he _had_ been acting strange recently…

The mystery didn’t last long, however. Sometime before lunch, Angelica had pulled Alex aside to speak with him, and she _did not_ look happy.

“What’s with the frowny face, Ange?”

“ _Hamilton._ ” Angelica didn’t stare daggers; her eyes shot piercing arrows that always hit the dead center of your heart. She meant business.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Alex smirked. He loved saying that.

Angelica, not as much. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms menacingly. If… one can do something like that menacingly.

“Listen to me.” All of a sudden, Angelica popped open the top button from her shirt, revealing more of her deep copper skin and collarbone. “You see this?” She furiously pointed (if one can, indeed, point furiously) at a dark bruise that Alex could barely make out under the dim light. “Thomas Jefferson gave me this.” Her eyes, wide and energetic, searched him for a response.

“Ew, I don’t want to know about your sex life, Ange. If you do decide to tell me, at least accompany it with a video.”

Angelica huffed, buttoning her shirt back up to the topmost button. “You’re disgusting, Hamilton.”

“Says the person who just told me who they slept with last night. Also, did you really feel the need to explain this to me? It’s John’s birthday, after all, and—“

“The point, Alexander,” Angelica said as she gritted her teeth and crossed her arms, “Is that Thomas has taken to sleeping around by now. He’s only ever done this one other time, and—well, I had to sign a legal form saying I wouldn’t spill. Now, this is not me admitting that I’m just going to sleep with whatever guy I meet, okay? We’ve made arrangements before, and—“

“I’m going to stop you right there.” To solidify his statement, Alex held up his right palm. “I told you I don’t want to learn about either your, or Jefferon’s sex lives. However, I don’t exactly understand why you’re telling me that he’s sleeping around.”

“Alex, I am going to say this one time, and one time only. Got that?” Angelica’s voice had become strained, and Alex decided not to test her any further. He merely nodded, convincing her to go on.

“Thomas Jefferson is in love with you.”

Okay, that was not what he was expecting.

“Wait— _What?_ Ange! Ange, wait, you can’t just leave with like this! _Wait up!_ ” Angelica was already walking away. She didn’t look back, even as Alex offered to give up half of John’s birthday cupcake. “Come _on_! Please, Ange, oh my God—“ She turned a corner, Alex still following her.

“I’m not repeating it.”

“That’s not what I want to know, for God’s sake—Angelica, what do you mean, ‘He’s only ever done this one other time?’”

Angelica stopped, turned around, and looked him straight in the eye.

“I knew him before he married Martha. She was beautiful, yeah, and he tried flirting with her—it failed miserably, blah blah blah, and he ended up staying inside his own house for three days. After that, however, he decided it would be a fun idea to go sleeping around with whomever he could find to get over it. Unfortunately, I was one of those people.”

“So?”

“So,” Angelica whispered, her voice suddenly dangerous, “He was in love with someone he thought he couldn’t get. Now, he’s doing it again—he’s in love with someone he thinks he can’t get. My best bet is you, buddy.” Alex could only gape at her looming figure, nonetheless give an answer to her.

“Don’t you dare mess this up,” she growled, and stormed off. Alex took this to mean, “don’t speak to anyone else for the rest of the day.” So he didn’t.

Thomas sat alone during lunch, toying absentmindedly with his salad, not daring to look up at the clock another time. It was clear Alexander wasn’t coming today. It didn’t matter, anyway. There was nothing good to talk about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up: peggy shenanigans


	14. The Second Day of Absolute Mayhem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Eliza laughed, and they said goodbye to each other. Unspoken between them was the “Stay safe at work.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a reason this is saved as "hamilsad" on my computer, folks

“Eliza, this—this is great. I love it.”

Alex was calling Eliza, phone propped between his ear and his shoulder, before he left for work again.

When he’d opened the tan cardboard box—of course Eliza would order from Amazon—he hadn’t been expecting much. At least, he wasn’t expecting a beautiful, seven-piece glass dinnerware set.

“Aww, thanks! I remembered you guys thinking about getting some new plates or something, because you were always dropping them—“

“Hey, learning how to juggle isn’t easy—“

“Anyway, this was so gorgeous, I couldn’t stand not getting it for you guys.”

“Well, thanks, ‘Liza. You’re the best.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. Have a good day at work.”

“You too—I’m sure that you’re the only one who can keep those toddlers in check.”

Eliza laughed, and they said goodbye to each other. Unspoken between them was the “Stay safe at work.”

Alex knew that Eliza had her own problems—teaching wasn’t as easy as most thought. She also had to sort through things with Maria. That was going to take time. Eliza still didn’t know if Maria had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or a husband—God, that situation was going to be tricky. Add those to the constantly growing pile of anxiety (featuring: simply not being white and being queer), and Eliza was under a lot of stress.

However, Alex really just wanted to lay back for a while—again. At the same time, there was so much to do, so much to finish, and so much to start. The countless projects that Washington somehow expected him to conclude by next month had started to add up, and Alex still wasn’t sure what at least half of them were about.

Basically, a lot of things needed to fixed, and soon.

There was a new mural near the subway today. Alex liked the contrast of the colors—a deep turquoise and a stunning, bold orange, crossing each other in thick strokes forming something that looked like a tree. He had to admit, the artist was talented.

Thomas arrived the same time as him, and he held the door open for Alex, but didn’t say hello. Alex was just wondering what was wrong when someone tapped his shoulder from behind.

His head whipped around, but no one was there. He must have imagined it.

Then the tap came again, this time on the opposite shoulder.

He whirled all the way around, but still no one was there. He could swear he heard a light giggle nearby, but didn’t call out for fear that someone might think he’s hallucinating.

Another tap came, this time on the original shoulder. Alex was getting a bit frustrated. He turned all the way around, and this time, he saw someone—someone with a yellow beanie.

“ _Peggy?_ ”

“’Sup, Hamburglar?”

“Please stop. Why are you here?”

“Umm, where’s the company courtesy? I’m here because I, umm…” Peggy whispered something that Alex couldn’t make out.

“What was that?”

“I’m here because I have some new ideas for GWash!” Peggy yelled, then looked around to make sure no one else heard. “How does a Halloween party sound?”

Alex was horrified. “You can’t. No. I am not going through this again—Peggy! Where are you going?”

Peggy sighed, placing a hand on her hip. “If you _must_ know, I’m going to GWash’s office. I set up a meeting with him, like, two weeks ago.”

“What?”

“Geez, Ham, stop with all the questions. Go bother Burr or something.” With that, Peggy took off, skipping—oh, God, Peggy was skipping towards his boss’s office. Great.

It started raining a few minutes before lunch, and large, looming gray clouds gathered right above their building. Alex cursed when he realized he forgot to bring a coat.

_Damn, that’s what Eliza should’ve gotten John,_ he thought, still staring out the window. Drops of water painted the glass like the mural he’d seen that morning—except this time it wasn’t quite as beautiful.

“Something wrong?”

Thomas had noticed Alex’s pained expression at the stormy weather. Alex wasn’t exactly in the mood for a conversation, especially with the person who’s been avoiding him for more than a day, so he didn’t answer. Yeah, it wasn’t the best tactic, but it usually worked if he needed to get out of something quickly.

“I said,” Thomas started again, and Alex was sure he could see him rolling his eyes, “Is something wrong?”

Alex just stayed silent.

“I wouldn’t know,” Thomas continued. Where was he going with this? “I’m not the one who thought it would be a _fun_ idea to not show up for lunch yesterday.”

Ouch.

“Hey, do you seriously think I did that on purpose?” Alex turned to face Thomas, who (surprisingly) wasn’t looking up.

“Oh, so we’re speaking now.”

“Yeah, we are—what’s your problem, man? So I don’t show up for lunch one time. It’s one time. Not that big of a deal.”

“It _is_ a big deal,” Thomas said, putting down the pen he’d been using to fill out some papers, “when neither of us _actually_ have any friends in this goddamn office. It kind of puts a damper on your day, I suppose.”

Alex seethed. What was his problem?

“Sorry, I wasn’t aware you couldn’t function without another human soul to contaminate with your awful new ideas.”

“And I wasn’t aware you had a soul.”

Alex bit his lip, trying not to shout. He didn’t want someone else to interrupt or add another edge to the conversation.

“Thomas, seriously, what is your problem? Why can’t you handle one lunch alone?”

He thought back to yesterday. Did he do anything wrong? Say something off-color? Surely not, he would’ve remembered it—

Oh. Angelica.

No. Thomas couldn’t— _no, he couldn’t_ —absolutely not—surely—but, he’s— _is he jealous?_

Out of the blue, Thomas laughed. It was harsh and bitter, though, unlike his laugh when Alex pulled out a 1001 Jokes book to read to him, and very much unlike his laugh when he was telling Alex all those funny stories at Martha’s funeral.

“Jealous? You think I’m jealous? How much more self-centered can you get?”

Alex realized that he’d said that last thought out loud and suppressed a groan.

Thomas furthered his taunts. “And you say I’m the spotlight hoarder.”

Alex snapped. “I never _once_ said that. You know it, too. I just—I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal out of something so little, okay? You’re acting like a jerk.”

Thomas stopped at the word jerk. He picked up his pen again and continued to fill out the papers. Alex grumbled about melodrama for a few more seconds before returning to his work, too.

The rest of the office found themselves getting bored of the quiet, realized they missed it, and were promptly terrified of the notion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why can't i end a chapter nicely
> 
> also: “It is a big deal,” Thomas said, putting down the pen he’d been using to fill out some papers, “when neither of us actually have any friends in this goddamn office." sorry james guess thomas isnt your friend (im so sorry i actually love james madison)
> 
> up next: john adams is a failure


	15. The Third Day of Absolute Mayhem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He knows that he cares about Thomas._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh alex

Alex knows that he is slightly frightened when Thomas doesn’t come in at the same time as him. Alex knows that his fears are irrational, but doesn’t stop worrying. He knows that he cares about Thomas.

Alex also knows that no words can describe the burst of joy in his chest when it turns out Thomas was just having a short time out with his daughters—he came back to the office with a smile on his face and a smudge of mint chocolate ice cream on his upper lip. When he passed Alex’s chair, thought, he saw that the smile did not yet reach his eyes. Then again, his smiles usually didn’t reach his eyes.

The rain had continued on for another day, and Alex hated it. Thunder accompanied the waterfall that was outside, and it was becoming even harder to concentrate on his work without trying to scream and curl up in his chair.

He tried focusing on other things—the wooden ceiling fan (not working), some music (definitely not working), Thomas’s outfit of the day (not working at all)—but the crashing booms always interfered, no matter what. Alex was just about to give up when another loud noise that was not remotely related to thunder came rumbling from another side of the office.

John Adams and a couple other people (naïve interns, Alex thought) had gathered around a small table in the corner, singing “Happy Birthday” as loudly as possible. Adams tried to get everyone else to join them, but all he received was blank, tired stares.

The others just drifted off with a “happy birthday, John” before returning back to work. He was obviously expecting some grand celebration just because it was his birthday— _how self-centered can you get?_ Alex thought.

He spared a glance at Thomas. Jefferson’s eyes met his, and he cracked the tiniest of smiles. He had to admit that the whole situation seemed a bit ridiculous.

As Alex returned to work, he realized that Thomas was the only person that really smiled at him anymore. John, well, he was gone; Angelica never smiled at anyone, anyway; Washington expressed his praise in his own, strange way; Peggy was constantly annoying him, and even if she was actually funny, he would never give her the pleasure of knowing that he found it amusing. Everyone else was either utterly boring or Eliza.

Eliza hadn’t called him back yesterday. She might have mentioned a date; he forgot, and didn’t want to ask because he didn’t want to feel guilty for forgetting.

He still wasn’t sure about his situation with Thomas. They’d argued yesterday, of course, and they still hadn’t talked to each other. However, he’d smiled at Alex after Adams’s failure of a birthday party—didn’t that mean something? Alex obviously hadn’t dated anyone in a while, and flirting with John was mainly limited to calling him “soldier boy,” so—

Wait. Now he was thinking about flirting and Thomas in the same thread. Something must be wrong.

Before he could do something about it, however, another ear-splitting crack was heard from near the windows. Alex’s instincts kicked in, hard, and the next thing he knew, he was sitting under his desk, having trouble breathing.

_Come on,_ he groaned internally. _This wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. You’re a grown man; you shouldn’t be acting like this. It’s just some storm._

But he kept himself under the desk, knees and chin tucked into his chest, like he’d learned at elementary school. His brain kept repeating the boom of the thunder, the _pit-pit-pit_ of the rain on windows, and the strange looks that he’d surely get from coworkers. He hated those looks.

Alex was trying to take deep breaths (nope, nope, nope) and concentrate on the scratchy texture of the carpet by rubbing his hand over it (nope, nope, nope) when suddenly, someone sat down next to him.

He looked up, almost a bit scared at the prospect of having to deal with the probing questions of a colleague. Alex had gotten them before:

_“What’s your problem?”_

_“It’s just thunder, get over it.”_

_“Crazy…”_

He’d heard the distasteful mutters, the cautionary whispers, and the pitying gazes from people who’d never understand. He’d seen it all. He didn’t want to deal with it, simple.

It was Thomas. Of course, the only person to go find out where he went is the same person he _definitely_ doesn’t want to deal with.

His inky black corkscrews grazed the bottom of the desk as he shifted sideways to get a good look at Alex. Alex was incredibly tempted to stare back at him, and get captured up in his eyes again, but was too scared. He’d probably just laugh at him, or be freaked out, which would make Alex freak out, and everyone would freak out and—

Thomas was reaching over. The tips of his fingers brushed lightly on Alex’s skin, letting him know that he was here, before he grabbed his hand and held it tight. Alex tried not to let go. Holding on to Thomas was like holding on to the branch of a tree; it was stable and almost comfortable. Something familiar and warm replaced the sick feeling in Alex’s stomach, and when he looked back at Thomas, he smiled.

“Are you… why are you under here?” Thomas asked, his voice just above a whisper.

Alex tried to form a coherent sentence, but talking wasn’t his strength right now. “Storm.”

Thomas nodded and didn’t comment. That either meant that he was okay with this arrangement, or was utterly disgusted in Alex and never wanted to talk to him again.

Okay, _maybe_ the second option was a bit exaggerated. Alex knew that Thomas, whose political opinions may be trash, wasn’t as bad as a person as he may have previously thought.

They stayed there, the two of them, under the desk for another minute until Thomas got up and saw that the thunder had died down a little. Alex repeatedly stated that he was fine, even though no one asked.

Lunch was difficult. Alex still didn’t know if he should talk to Thomas.

That turned out to be fine, however, because GWash excused Thomas before either of them had lunch. Thomas had mentioned something about it being Martha’s birthday, and wanted to make sure he spent as much time with his kids as possible—Alex just forced a smile and nodded. Those kids deserved some time with their dad, anyway.

As the day progressed, Alex’s energy levels corresponded with the weather. As the sky grew darker and grayer, he grew more and more tired.

Taking the subway hurt. He almost got off on the wrong stop. By the time he actually got home, the only thing he cared about was getting to bed.

It rained over night, as well. Alex tried his hardest to block out the strikes and the noise, but it wasn’t the same without someone to get through it with.

He stayed up all night, thinking about people. He though about which person could help him get through the night.

He thought about Thomas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> john adams is literally the jerry gurgich of the washington administration tbh
> 
> i actually hate this chapter it took me so long to write and i just???? ugh
> 
> next up: we're all going to hell


	16. The Fourth Day of Absolute Mayhem Part i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I’m your friend, Alex,” Eliza whispered. “I just want to help you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're all eliza tbh
> 
> all of the comments on the last chapter were so???? nice???? i dont understand I literally wrote one of these chapters in less than an hour. but anyway your support means so much to me, now i know that im not the only one in hell :,)

Eliza was furious with Alex. Not angry, not mad, not even “not mad, just disappointed.” Eliza was _furious._

She managed to not swerve the car off the side of the road, however. She still wanted to be alive for her sisters’ and Maria’s sakes.

Gripping the wheel as tightly as she could without breaking her fingers, Eliza turned on to the street where she lived. Her house wasn’t hard to miss—a 1925 Craftsman style, gray shingle roof, and an updated color palette. The front lights were the only things that lit up the road in front of them—it was past midnight, anyway, and no one would be up, not at this hour.

She kept her firm grip even after they had parked in the gravel driveway. She kept the doors locked, so when Alex reached to get out, they wouldn’t budge.

“Hey,” he mumbled, “what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal,” Eliza hissed, “Is that it’s 3 a.m., you’re still drunk, and I had to pick you up before you got an _extremely_ regrettable tattoo. Alex, we need to talk more.” She said the last sentence with a pained look on her face, her eyebrows knitted together.

“I—I’m fine.”

“Stop saying that, Alex! _You are not fine!_ ” Eliza’s yelling wasn’t doing anything for Alex’s pounding headache, but she couldn’t help herself. She’d had enough of Alex’s constant excuses and denials. He was obviously not okay. “I’m your friend, Alex,” Eliza whispered. “I just want to help you.”

She hugged herself, and averted her eyes from Alex. He’d surely be pouting now, trying to think up some way to say that he was, indeed, stable, but she didn’t want to hear it. Tonight had been the last straw.

He’d gone out late and gotten himself drunk, is what he did. Acted in that usual Hamilton way, talked too much, and got himself thrown out.

Someone had called her at 2 a.m. to say that they had found this phone, lying in the middle of the sidewalk, and she’d gotten out of bed in a flash. She eventually tracked him down and found him about to get a tattoo of a dragon on his upper right thigh, and pulled him into her car. Now, they were here, in Eliza’s driveway, at 3 o’clock in the morning.

“I’m sorry, ‘Liza. I should’ve called you.”

“It’s not just that, though. It’s the endless mantra of ‘I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine’ that gets me. I hate—I hate seeing people grow away from me.” She held herself tighter. “I hate people lying to me.”

A moment of silence passed, where Alex assessed his thoughts and Eliza comforted herself. She wasn’t about to let herself cry because her friend was—nope. She was crying. She was gone.

“Hey, Betsey. We’re here now. I’m safe now. Betsey,” Alex’s voice cracked. She still wouldn’t look at him.

“’Liza, look me straight in the eye and I’ll tell you about everything, alright? Then we’ll go in. We’ll be fine, together.”

Her shoulder heaved, and she managed to use one hand to brush away a few strand of hair that had fallen near her face. Looking up, Eliza saw that Alex was holding out his hand for her to take. She sniffed once, looked back at him, and took it.

“I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to get myself in trouble.”

“You never do,” Eliza said, and the corners of Alex’s mouth turned up a bit.

“Things just… they just kept piling up. I was so tired. So, so, tired, Betsey, you have to believe me. I can’t believe I went out and did that, though. It wasn’t right. I should’ve gone to you, or someone else. I wasn’t all right. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Eliza finally said after his words hung, heavy, in the air for a few more seconds. He smiled, patted her hand, and let go. She opened the doors, and they went inside.

~

“So… Thomas, then?”

They sat in Eliza’s dining room, each with glasses of water in front of them and blankets on their shoulders. Alex’d had a good snack (as Eliza had found out that he hadn’t had dinner last night), and they were both watching the 5 o’clock sky as it faded from dark blue to red.

“Yeah. He’s nice.”

Eliza raised an eyebrow. Alex turned the same color as the sunrise.

“And?”

“I don’t know, there’s not much else to say about him,” Alex scoffed, but his smile betrayed him. Eliza thought he looked cute when he got flustered.

“You never got like this when we were dating, you know.”

“Like what?”

Eliza bit back a laugh. “Right now! Your voice just squeaked. You’re blushing. It’s obvious, Alex.”

“What’s obvious?”

Eliza shook her head at him. Maybe he didn’t get it, after all.

“I can’t believe you, Alex.” He pouted and drew his eyebrows together, and Eliza snorted. “Alex,” she said, “Admit it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He yawned, and Eliza realized that he hadn’t gotten much sleep that night.

“Oh well, Alex. You might as well crash here for a few more hours. There’s no way you can survive at the office on—what, two hours of sleep?—and a hangover. You can take the guest room, if you want.”

She expected Alex to put up a fight, but he accepted the offer, dragging his quilted blanket along with him. She gave him a sympathetic smile and hoped he wouldn’t get up again anytime soon.

~

Eliza woke Alex up a half hour before he needed to get to work. He’d gone to sleep in yesterday’s clothes, so Eliza handed him an old blazer of her father’s to wear instead. There simply wasn’t any time for him to drive all the way back to his house, and besides, it’s not like anything was dirty.

The commute was easy. Eliza did most of the talking on the way there, mainly because Alex’s brain as still a little fuzzy, and also because Eliza was overly excited for her class’s Halloween party.

“I just love seeing the kids in their costumes!” She squealed. “One time, this little kid dressed up as Tigger, you know, from Winnie the Pooh, and another time, this girl dressed up as a pirate and a boy dressed up as a princess and totally destroyed gender roles, and—hey, Alex? You still awake?”

“What?” Alex hadn’t been asleep. _Just resting_ , he thought. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I’m… I’m going to work.” He yawned again.

Eliza shifted her glance from the road to look at Alex again.

“You sure, Alex?”

“Yeah. Keep your eyes on the road.”

Eliza repressed a sigh, and continued. “Anyway, one time a boy got stuck in his costume, and we had to enlist help from at least four other teachers…”

~

Halloween wasn’t exactly on Thomas’s list of top ten favorite holidays. All these kids dressed up in freaky costumes, asking for candy when they clearly could’ve just spent the money rom their costumes on the candy they were asking for—

Well. He wasn’t really the target audience, either. That didn’t stop him from sighing when Polly and Patsy asked for help with their costumes—the comedic snowman from Frozen and a rainbow-feathered owl, respectively—for the classroom Halloween party.

“Thank you for helping us with our costumes,” Polly said, shyly fingering one of the buttons that resembled an eye for the snowman.

“You’re welcome. You would look great in that even without my help, though.”

Patsy was much more excited than Polly—probably because she had eaten candy before and knew what to expect. Some of her colorful fluffy feathers were falling off as she pranced around the house in circles, attempting to flutter her wings. Her hair—much like his own, Thomas thought with a small smile—bounced along with her as she jumped up and down. This must’ve been the happiest she’d been since Martha passed.

“Alright, kids, get in the car. Let’s get you two to school.”

~

Thomas had a plan. It might not work, but it was a plan.

~

Alex thought he would confront Thomas today, talk things out, and they’d move on from there. It’d all work out. Everything would be fine.

~

That day, Thomas started by not holding the door open.

He’d act rude. He’d be rude. He would say rude things, retweet rude people, teach rude things. He’d do anything, because he’d messed up. Everything was messed up.

Thomas would have to do everything in his power to make Alex not like him. Then, maybe he’d get over this stupid crush thing ( _don’t call it that_ , he chided his brain) and everything would be back to normal—he would hate Alex, and Alex would hate him.

A part of him knew that this could’ve been handled a different way, but this was easy. This was quick. And that was really all he needed.

So he didn’t hold the door open when Alex passed him. He didn’t say hello, didn’t say thank you, didn’t say your welcome, and he tried his best not to acknowledge that punch in his heart when he saw Alex frowning at him from across the room. He tried not to care anymore.

Yeah, it was petty. Yeah, Alex would hate him. But wasn’t that the point? Thomas was doing this all to make Alex hate him. To show his heart that there was no way he could ever possibly be with him.

He shuddered slightly at the though. _Being with Alexander Hamilton. God, what was I thinking?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up: AHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAA U GUYS GONNA GET REKT AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA


	17. The Fourth Day of Absolute Mayhem Part ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> angelica x memes

Alex was getting very upset with Thomas Jefferson.

Ever since this morning, he’d been acting strange—not holding the door open, not even saying “hello,” not making eye contact, and basically acting like Alex wasn’t in the same room as him. It was all very frustrating, especially since he was planning on having a conversation with him about all that had been happening recently.

Thankfully, GWash hadn’t caught on. That was good—Alex didn’t want this to be a whole dramatic affair. (He could practically see Angelica rolling her eyes at that. She was always exaggerating how “dramatic” Alex could be. Yeah, right.) Nothing too good had happened as of late, and his co-workers were getting thirsty for some juicy gossip. (That sounded so strange in his head.)

There—There, Thomas just did it again! He was handing out papers from the boss’s office and completely ignored his desk. He didn’t even look at it. This was getting incredibly ridiculous.

Jefferson had already asked everyone for coffee orders, as his secretary was heading out to Starbucks sometime soon, and didn’t seem to notice Alex raising his hand. He didn’t even look at him, for heaven’s sake! He had also wished almost everyone in the office a happy “Throwback Thursday” (and tweeted about it, the little shit), but seemed to overlook Alex.

Hell, _he took a goddamned selfie of the office and made Burr tell Alex to get away from the screen_. This could hardly be classified as normal, healthy behavior from a friend.

Alex took his alone time to contemplate what, exactly, drove him to be friends with Thomas in the first place. Well, there was the obvious, the “of course”—they both had recently deceased spouses. And wasn’t that it? That was their special bond, their only thing in common. That had to be it. The only thing. If Thomas wasn’t being such a terrible person today, Alex would’ve smiled at how stupid it seemed.

The were only friends because of a tragedy. Two tragedies, actually. But still.

And now—what were they now? Thomas hated him, or at least, he acted like it. Alex was still angry, still sad, and still bitter. He would probably stay that way, too, unless he did something. He would have to talk to Thomas.

He sighed. That was going to be a chore, all right. There was a 50%—no, 70%—chance that the conversation wouldn’t even go anywhere, that Thomas would just keep ignoring him and get on with his life and leave Alex in the dust. That’s what Alex was expecting to happen, really.

Alex got up to go talk to Angelica about it, because when it really came down to it, she was the one and only true voice of reason.

When he reached her desk, he looked down at her computer and _of course she was looking up memes._

“Ange, what are you doing?”

She snorted before she could answer. “Peggy… Peggy kept mentioning these, so I—I—I started looking all these up, and come on, Alex, look at this one—“ She pointed at one on the screen weakly before collapsing into her chair.

Alex’s nostrils flared. Why did she take today, of all days, to indulge in the more childish part of her personality? (God, that sounded pretentious, even to Alex, aka the Stuffy Old Man Who Yells At Clouds.)

“Ange, I need to talk to you about something serious,” he whispered, trying to be as discreet as possible. He looked over to see Thomas looking up from his work, raising a single eyebrow at the fits of laughter coming from Angelica’s station, and Alex cursed silently. He turned back to Ange and gave her the most serious look he could muster. “Angelica Schuyler.”

“Whoa, we’re using my full name now?”

“Angelica, you’re basically acting like me right now. Please stop and come with me.”

“You sound like a kidnapper with that gruff ‘Come with me,’ but okay,” she noted, but obliged. She managed to close the tab that had proudly displayed her deep research of the modern day meme before anyone else could come over and investigate, and they headed towards the water bubbler.

Angelica took one of the triangular, cone-shaped paper cups they used for water, and started examining it closely.

“Did you know that these cups were most likely designed to keep employees from carrying water back to their work stations? It’s really weird, actually—if you really need a drink, why not just bring your own paper cup? Or your own coffee cup, and you just fill it with water?”

Alex stared at her, stared at the cup, back at her, and sighed. “I need to ask you something.”

Angelica nodded, but didn’t look up from her intense study of the paper cup. “Go on.”

Alex took a deep breath and clamped his eyes shut. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see Angelica's reaction. “Should I ask Thomas out?”

She didn’t say anything in response, but Alex swore that he could distinctly hear the crumpling of a paper cup.

“ _Seriously?_ ” her voice grated. “You’re thinking _now_ is a good time?” Alex refused to open his eyes. He was too scared of Angelica’s reaction.

“Well, I mean, I thought about it, and he seemed okay with it before, and—but now, he’s, he’s, I don’t even know, and—“

“It seems to me like you missed your chance, buddy.”

Alex sighed—not out of annoyance, but out of exhaustion. Things were getting rough.

“I want both of us to be happy.”

He opened his eyes, surprised to see that Angelica wasn’t even staring at him anymore. He shuddered at the thought of what her steely gaze must’ve been before then.

In fact, Angelica was staring at something different altogether. Past the water cooler, past Alex’s right shoulder, past the unnecessary potted green plant, to someone—and that someone was walking their way.

Alex caught on, and swiveled around along with Angelica to see Thomas walking towards them. (Or, more accurately, Angelica, seeing as he wasn’t speaking or interacting with Alex.)

“Hello, Mr. Jefferson.” Angelica plastered on a smile, feigning a polite look to mask the frustration she was surely feeling just moments ago. “How are you doing today?”

“I’m fine,” Thomas smiled, equally as fake. “I was wondering if you, Angelica, wanted a special design in your latte—my secretary decided to go to one of those hipster places down the street instead of Starbucks.”

Angelica shook her head, but kept her eyes leveled and matched Thomas’s expression. Alex was sure they were having some sort of secret staring contest, because neither of them seemed to be blinking.

“No, thank you, Thomas. The gesture was kind, though.”

Thomas nodded, still smiling, and was about to start walking away to talk to someone else about their coffee order when Angelica spoke up again.

“Umm, Thomas, I believe that Alex here wanted to speak with you,” and she made a vague gesture in Alex’s general direction.

He didn’t seem to catch on. “Excuse me?”

Angelica kept smiling, acting like nothing was wrong.

“Well, Alexander here wanted to speak with you about something important. I was wondering if you could spare a little of your precious time to have a conversation with him.”

Thomas’s grin faltered, and for a split second both Angelica and Alex saw him glance over at Alex.

“Sorry, I wasn’t aware that Alex came in today. Silly me—I must bring my glasses next time—“

“Cut the crap, Jefferson.” Alex folded his arms and tried to stand up straighter. Angelica averted her eyes as to not burst out into fits of laughter at the sight of it.

“Good morning to you as well, Mr. Hamilton.”

“I wanted to know if you wanted to go out on a date sometime soon. You can pick the place, if you want.”

That as clearly not at all what Thomas was expecting. “Wh—What?”

Alex kept his composure. “I wanted to know if you wanted to go out with me.”

Angelica started to walk out of the room. Neither of them stopped her—they were each sure of what was going to happen next.

When Thomas still didn’t respond, Alex took a step closer to him. “Are you okay?”

“More than okay,” Thomas mumbled, and Alex almost didn’t notice it, because in less than a second they were swept up into each other’s arms, reaching for the other’s lips and chasing for kisses to make up all the lost time. Alex didn’t even worry about someone walking in on them—surely, Angelica would’ve taken care of that—and Thomas didn’t worry about messing up, or making a mistake, or making the wrong move, because right there and then everything was perfect and everything was him and Alex and everything was fine.

Alex had missed kissing. It’s not like he got to often and all, with John being away so often, but when they did, it was special. It was theirs. With Thomas, everything was passionate, and maybe too intimate—but then again, that was Thomas. Instead of dwelling on this, Alex stared back at Thomas and went in for another kiss, then another, and one thing led to the next and then they were making out in the janitor’s closet—like high schoolers, Alex thought.

At one point, however, Thomas stopped them. He had to take several deep breaths before speaking—maybe they were going too fast. Maybe Alex had done something wrong. He was just beginning to fret and worry some more until he couldn’t take it anymore when Thomas held up a palm.

“Before we do anything else,” he whispered, “I want to make something clear.”

A giant ball of fear twisted itself inside of Alex, causing his stomach to lurch. Surely, Thomas didn’t want this.

“I can’t be your John.”

Well… that wasn’t vague at all. Alex chose to not say anything, let Thomas continue, and watched him. God, he was so lost in his eyes, and once again he felt like some teenager, new to the idea of romance.

“And you… Alexander,” and Alex knew that he was falling even harder now that he had said his name, “you can never be Martha. Not my Martha.”

Alex’s gaze fell. Of course. So this was the rejection.

After a short pause, Thomas spoke up again, his voice low and contemplating. “But I can be your Thomas.”

Alex’s brain must have short-circuited. What? What did he say?”

“I can be your Thomas. Can you—Do you want to be, well, my Alexander?”

Thomas’s statement was strained, like it was just an idea that he hadn’t quite fleshed out yet, and wasn’t sure if it was exactly sane yet. Alex’s name, the soothing “Alexander” was soaked in pain, and he decided that he didn’t like Thomas saying his name like that.

Alex looked up. Thomas looked down.

“Yeah. I can be your Alexander, as long as you can be my Thomas.”

His smile wasn’t so fake after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!!!!!!


	18. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's December.

It took Alex a while to get used to Thomas Jefferson waking him up in the morning instead of an alarm clock. That was not to say, however, that he didn’t like it.

“Alex, come on, today is a very important day. Now get your ass up and eat my pancakes.” His eyes gradually adjusted, and eventually his vision cleared so he could see the dark purple drapes that Thomas used for the winter and fall months. From across the house, he could hear the steady flare of a stove and the sound of a frying pan being dropped—or, at least, he _hoped_ it was the sound of a frying pan being dropped.

“Thomas, are you all right?” he called from the bed. He decided that it would be a good idea to get his slippers (well, Thomas’s bunny ones, but that wasn’t important right now) on and investigate. He couldn’t have a physically impaired boyfriend on the day of the office’s surprisingly formal holiday party.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just fine,” Thomas called out, but Alex was already making his way downstairs.

“Pancakes ready, then?”

“Sure.” Thomas managed a smile. He had just stubbed his toe, after all—at least it wasn’t his head.

“So you _can_ actually make something that isn’t just mac and cheese,” Alex said, accompanied by a downright giddy grin. Thomas sighed and rolled his eyes. (That previous sentence pretty much described every day in the Jefferson-Hamilton household.)

“Please. Stop degrading my culinary skills.”

“Umm, excuse me? Trust me, that mac and cheese was most definitely not the product of ‘culinary skills.’ If anything, it was—“

“Okay, okay, I think we all get your point.” Thomas playfully shoved him away before he could get first dibs on the blueberry pancakes.

They ate pancakes for the rest of the morning, making comfortable conversation like a happy couple. And that’s what they were, even though it sounded strange at first—they were each others’ boyfriends. Alex took delight in saying many words, but this one was his current favorite. Thomas is my _boyfriend_. I am his _boyfriend_. That’s right, my _boyfriend_ sure can be an asshole.

The rest of the day passed without any interruptions. Thomas and Alex discussed getting another turtle to keep Philip company; Alex and Thomas sang and danced along to some new song on the radio; Thomas and Alex fed each other their lunch. They weren’t one of those disgusting new couples, though—they still had lots of disagreements (“Washington has the wrong idea about where he’s taking us!” “He knows exactly what he’s doing, and I trust him!”) and still had some issues to work out.

(Thomas once found Alex lying on their bed, clutching the covers and sheets, crying because he thought John was disappointed in him. They had a good cuddle session that day.)

But they were happier. Their lives felt complete; when they thought a piece of them had died, it turns out it was just lost. And they found it in each other. And they were okay with that.

Today was going to be an important day. Washington liked the excessively formal holiday party as much as the next guy, or rather, much more than the average guy, because he requested that everyone dress well and bring something for the potluck. (Thomas checked—paper plates wouldn’t cut it this time.) So, Thomas was in charge of the outfits, as even Alex had to admit the man had style, while Alex was put in charge of bringing the food. He had decided on a dish he had learned from his mother when he still lived on Nevis.

When it was time for the couple to leave, Alex was only done with half of the meal and Thomas was in the middle of taking a nap.

Ten minutes after it was time for them to leave, Alex was rushing and accidentally spilled some of the pigeon peas he was using and had to clean it up, and Thomas was rushing to get both of them in their clothes.

Thirty minutes after it was time for them to leave, Alex had packed the pelau and Thomas had tugged on both of their shoes. They left as soon as possible without dropping the pot (“It’s really hot, okay?!).

Thirty-six minutes after it was time for them to leave, the couple left.

~

Thomas was driving, and Alex had the pot on his lap. That’s when he said it.

“I love you.”

Thomas blanked out for a second, but didn’t feel like crashing the car that day. “I—uh—I really love you too, Alexander.”

He could feel Alex’s smile from the other seat.

~

A large gust of air followed them in when they arrived at the holiday party. It felt good to Alex and Thomas—they finally, finally had the wind at their backs.

Eliza and her girlfriend had been invited by Angelica. GWash was with his wife, as was Adams, and all the other couples congregated by the punch table. Holding hands, Alex and Thomas spared a quick grin at each other, and entered the party.

They were official now. They were a “they” now.

They couldn’t be happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! I'm so happy that I was able to complete something so cool and do it with people who think it's cool!
> 
> I don't have Leonardo di Caprio's Oscar speech memorized, so that won't do, but I wanted to thank everyone who supported me, gave me kudos and commented. Those comments always made my day and helped me write a better story.
> 
> I can't believe this was eighteen chapters. I tried updating as much as possible, from the first day I joined ao3 (LITERALLY A MONTH AGO!!!! omg) to now.
> 
> If you liked this, please check out my other works and the works of people who gave kudos to this! There are people who have way cooler stories, so read as much as you can! This fandom has such good writers i asasghehfjkslfhflahf anyway, thank you for reading this story and have a nice day.
> 
> <3


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